Sentinel
by Cookie Montser
Summary: Taylor's mother dies during a Endbringer attack years before the canon. She triggers and is adopted by Legend, but returns years later to Brockton Bay in order to fix the crime-ridden city. Just having some fun.


(This story has been discontinued, so read at your own peril) - Apologies to Edale.

I've never really read Worm (only until the 10th arc or so). All my knowledge comes from fanfic, so forgive mistakes. I wrote this in some spare time I had, and I thought a brief explanation of Taylor's powers may help before I jump into the story:

Sentinel has access to five different power combinations, but she is only able to employ one at a time.

The first combination, and pretty much the most often used while not in battle, is a precognitive ability combined with a power that grants her extreme dexterity and enhanced reaction time, allowing her to adapt to a person's combat style pretty quickly. The precognition is limited to ten seconds, and she knows exactly what will happen so long as she is actively watching. Even the smallest changes in the environment can alter the future, so she can't switch between abilities and still hope to know what will happen.

The second combo is a blaster-flyer set. She can accelerate from rest to twice the speed of sound in a matter of 2-3 seconds and continue accelerating to upwards of mach 8. While Sentinel is not as easily affected by G-forces as other fliers, she cannot turn on a dime at higher velocities. Her blaster ability relates to the control of plasma, which is basically a mass of ionized particles, which reacts to electrical and magnetic fields (I'm not very good at physics, so forgive me). Fire is plasma. Not the most ionized form, but plasma nonetheless. Therefore, Sentinel is not a laser-based Blaster. She can shape the plasma freely, thereby giving her great adroitness when using it as a weapon or defence.

The third set involves standard telekinesis combined with an anti-energy shield. And by that, I mean a shield which strips anything that touches it of excess energy, bringing it to a state of rest. The shield can pretty much stop anything except the most powerful applications of strength (Legend's lasers, Alexandra's punches, Endbringers). Nevertheless, it manages to strip quite a bit of power even from those attacks.

The fourth ability allows Sentinel to become immaterial for a short duration, Nothing can affect her in that time, since she basically just splits apart. You would have to be able to interact with her on a molecular level to actually injure her. She can also extend this power to objects she touches, but she is limited significantly by the size of the object she is influencing. Once she returns to her original state, all her wounds are repaired, but the stress of using her power still remains. Excessive application leads to debilitating headaches.

And finally, a Thinker/Striker combo. This final ability allows her to discover and exploit weaknesses in another's defence. She is further equipped with a striker ability that applies massive amounts of force upon touch. The sheer strength of the strike is tempered by the fact that she has to close the distance between her and the enemy. This means she is vulnerable for a moment, thereby putting her at extreme risk.

* * *

><p>1.1<p>

"Taylor!"

The desperate scream pierced through the sound of raining debris, reaching through to me despite the mind-numbing terror that held me firmly in place. The cries of dying dozens came together in a storm of prayers and empty pleas for mercy, but I heard Mom's voice above it all—hopeless and uncertain.

"H-Hold on to my hand. Just h-hold on tight, h-honey. You'll be safe."

The shelter trembled under a crushing blow and a portion of the ceiling on the far end of the chamber collapsed suddenly as the supports failed, crushing dozens who were huddled together, pressed flesh-to-flesh in a fruitless attempt for comfort.

They were gone in an instant, their lives snuffed out in the time it took me to draw in a single breath, but I was too far gone to comprehend anything beyond the prison of terror closing in around me.

My screams had long since died down to weak whimpers. Each breath was a struggle, a battle between my will to live and the urge to let go. The screams were growing louder, if it was even possible, and Mom's soothing words became distant and weaker. The sheer wall of sound squeezed my frail body with a viselike grip that held me frozen in place, unable to move—unable to draw more than a single sharp gasp of air.

Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale.

There was no way to escape, not a chance in hell I could break free, and the torture mounted with every second that went by. Time dripped by, more slowly than I could have imagined possible, but it went on steadily. It seemed like days, years even, but I knew it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Perhaps even less. I had no way of knowing—not with my mind shutting down slowly as my screams of horror turned on the inside and echoed within the vast cavern of my mind.

Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale.

Darkness began to intrude on the edge of my consciousness. It reared its head slowly but steadily, an ugly presence threatening to take me over, using my doubt and fear against me. The agony had retreated behind a wall of detachment. Lingering, ever present, but no longer murderously sharp.

The blows rained down on the reinforced structure from above, created to withstand an Endbringer's might, and the walls trembled and split with awning cracks as each strike landed, a spider web of spreading destruction.

Deep down we all knew what it meant: it was here…here to kill us all, and there was no running, no possible escape.

A roar ripped through the air, a ghastly noise that rattled the world and filled me with mounting horror. It rose higher, filled with world in a growing crescendo—

—only to cut off abruptly, leaving the silence of whimpers and sobs in its wake.

I hugged Mom around the waist, pressing my face into her shoulder and squeezing my eyes shut so I wouldn't see. "M-Mom? Is it o-over?"

Strong fingers tangled in my hair, stroking through it gently. "Shhh, honey. It's going to be alright—"

And the world split apart as Beast's triumphant cry echoed through the air.

I reached for her, I reached for Mom, but she was wrenched away.

"MOM!—

"—NO!"

I reeled out of bed, a soundless cry wrenching free of me, and tossed the blankets aside in a rush towards the bathroom.

I only just managed to reach before the contents of my stomach came rushing out, the sharp taste of bile mixing with the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I shuddered in the aftermath, my limbs trembling with suppressed fury, but the strength drained out me almost immediately as the effect of adrenaline wore off.

Weak, helpless and broken, I felt all will drain from me.

I collapsed on the ground, pressing my face to the cold tiles, and lay there lifelessly for a while—god knows how long—until the door swung open and a shadowy silhouette emerged out of the dark, only to flip the light switch and fill the bathroom with a soft glow of florescent light.

Luke—or Legend as he was known to the rest of the world—appeared wide awake and alert despite the late hour, which was a testament to his constant battle-readiness. I wasn't surprised to see him. Honestly, I hadn't been surprised by anything in almost four years…not since that.

It's impossible to be surprised when you have prior knowledge of what's about to happen in the immediate future. I'd seen him coming, and I knew exactly what he was about to say.

"I'm fine," I interrupted, before he could speak. "And no, I don't have an upset stomach. It'll pass."

Luke sighed. "Another nightmare?"

"No," I lied.

"I heard you call out, Taylor."

I stood abruptly, not deigning to reply, and walked past him to my room. "You should go back to sleep," I stated flatly, tossing my fallen blanket back onto the bed. "You might wake Keith; he's got school tomorrow. Not to mention Arthur. He's had a hectic few days."

"And so have you, Taylor," Legend responded. "You've spent most of your time out on patrol, and I doubt you've had anything to eat in a while."

He stood in the bedroom doorway, watching quietly as I wrenched open the bottom drawer of my dresser and withdrew a matte-black costume striped in gold. It was tinker-tech, capable of withstanding thousands of degrees without effect, which was primarily why I'd chosen it. The dark color scheme was an added benefit, and the gold stripes that crisscrossed across my back and shoulders added a heroic edge that would have otherwise been missing.

"I need to change," I said pointedly. "Turn around."

Luke obeyed wordlessly, his expression as sympathetic but unrevealing as ever. "You shouldn't go out tonight. Just sleep it off, get some rest and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

You're assuming I want to talk.

The costume fit like a glove, molding itself to my lean and muscled frame like a second skin, and the golden domino mask covered just enough to conceal the essential parts of my features. It was pointed upwards at the corners of the eyes and it came down to the tip of my nose in a beak-like bulge that I'd been told on occasion made me look like a falcon in search of prey.

I was Sentinel, both in name and nature.

"I'm outta here."

Luke let out a frustrated breath as I walked past him and followed behind me with long strides. "Taylor…" he began, his tone not exactly frustrated. "If you insist on going out, at least wait for me. I'll be ready in a minute and we can fly out together. You don't always have to be alone."

Have to be, I thought coldly? I NEED to be alone!

"Go back to Arthur," I snapped, but immediately moderated my tone as a wave of guilt washed over me. "You've been away all week on Protectorate business, and he deserves some attention. Do you really want to spend the night patrolling, especially when you're the one who said we shouldn't be seen together in costume?"

"That was in order to protect you from undue scrutiny, but I can't let you leave in this state! You might hurt someone," he replied. "Or worse, people might figure out what you can really do. Is that what you want? To be a target of everyone's scrutiny, to never have a moment to yourself? You'll be hunted by gangs, but every other idiot who has something to prove."

"Let them try." I snorted at the prospect. "I can handle them…after all, you're the one who trained me."

"I also taught you to be smart, but it seems that lesson didn't stick too well." Luke sighed, clearly regretting the barb. "Taylor. Just because you can fight them doesn't mean you should—"

I let go of my precognitive ability and dematerialized instantly. The world bled down to a mass of vibrating particles, a sea of swimming colors and fundamental forces, and I streamed out of the house, moving without substance or definable form, and swept down the street in absolute silence.

I kept moving until a slight headache started to form at the fore of my mind and immediately released the power when it threatened to overwhelm me. My body reformed smoothly, coming together from seemingly nothing, and I felt fresh and invigorated.

No fatigue; no pain; no nausea, although the headache remained for a short while after, leaving me fresh and ready.

Strong.

I released the power and grabbed for another, erupting upwards without a moment's pause.

I accelerated towards the purple night sky at a rate that should've shattered every bone in my body. In the space of a single second, I went from stationary to twice the speed of sound, hurtling above the sea of glittering lights that was New York City and hovering briefly at the zenith of my flight before I leveled out and circled the sprawling metropolis.

For a while, I felt no urge other than to drift endlessly, to drown the screams beneath the roaring wind and forget I ever saw it all. If only it were that simple, but pain wasn't something you could turn off on a whim and terrible memories had a way of entrenching themselves in the mind, burrowing deep in so that they could never be forgotten.

But there was work to be done, and I didn't have the luxury to mope. Instead, I focused on the city below and reached up to tap my ear.

"This is PRT dispatch," a woman's voice spoke from the other end. "Late shift, Sentinel?"

"You know how it is," I replied, injecting false cheer into my voice. "The urge hits whenever it likes."

"That it does."

"Got anything for me, Emily?"

"Well, it's a quiet night fortunately. Nothing cape related," she responded. "Can I interest you in responding to a break in or—shit, give me a second."

I drew up abruptly at the urgency in her voice and floated idly in the wafting breeze. "Emily," I asked after there was no immediate reply. "What's happening?"

"I have reports coming in from the People's territory," she replied. "It sounds serious, but I can't—"

"Give it to me," I ordered without second thought. "I'll take the call."

There was a moment of silence. "I don't think I'm authorized to do that," Emily replied matter-of-factly. "Protectorate capes and the Wards have been advised not to enter the People's territory without appropriate permission. We're supposed to send these calls to uniforms on the ground and let them deal with it however they can."

"I am an independent hero affiliated with the Protectorate, but I'm sure as hell not obligated to follow their commands," I responded fiercely. "Give me a location so I can answer the call. If you don't, I'll just fly down there anyways and make some noise until someone shows up to face me."

The sigh on the other end was one of resignation and defeat. "A cape fight has been reported at the intersection of Northeast and Highstreet," she replied. "Four capes confirmed, Sentinel. Be safe."

"Thank you, Emily."

* * *

><p>1.2<p>

I cut the call to dispatch and snapped into motion, tearing through the air in a direct path toward People territory.

When you're traveling at several times the speed of sound, the world loses all definition and bleeds down to nothing more than a kaleidoscope of swimming color. During the night, over one of the brightest cities on Earth, that means looking down a sea of endless gold, if only for a fraction of a second.

I altered my path almost immediately, and exploded downwards the moment I was close to my destination. The streets below rose up to meet me, but I decelerated rapidly on approach and halted at least a hundred meters above the rubble-strewn battlefield.

Flickers of light and streaming energy whipped around, let loose by a pair of blue-clad capes who had the enemy pinned down in narrow alleyway.

Non-capes, I thought, watching how they fired potshots around the corner and hunkered down together in fear. Down the street, two more capes were going at it with abandon, ramming each other into concrete walls and decimating the line of parked cars as they used each other like punching bags.

Rampage and Obdurate.

A roar from the opposite end of the lane altered me to the presence of yet another group, as a bulky shape went up against two opponents, both of whom seemed to be keeping their distance from the giant.

Fucking amateurs, I thought. Every last one of them.

I thrust my palms out and two glowing orbs of plasma formed around them, burning with such intensity that it seemed as if the sun had dawned over the narrow street.

The pair of blasters below—Deepfreeze and Lancer if I remembered correctly—paused in their onslaught to look up at me. They squinted against the brightness, trying to see past the twin suns balanced in my hands, but I knew there was no point trying unless they had Legend's ability to overcome any intensity of light.

"What the fuck—?"

"This is Sentinel," I announced, cutting him off and raising my voice loud enough for both them and the nearby gangbangers to hear. "Cease all hostilities immediately and surrender!"

Deepfreeze reacted predictably, although there was something to be said about the speed of his reaction. A crackling shard of blue-tinged light speared toward upwards and struck me dead center in an explosion of ice and sub-zero temperatures.

For a moment, it seemed like the very air around me had liquefied as the temperature dropped low, but I focused my power and pushed outwards.

A flare of undulating plasma spread outward in all directions, tearing through the cover of hardened ice and sending a scalding wind down towards the capes below.

I dropped just as Lancer fired off his own attack, this one tinged in silver and leaving a misty trail in its wake. It missed by a mere hairsbreadth as it shot over my shoulder, and I alighted right in front of the two blasters, releasing my current ability and reaching for the more comfortable precognition.

"Good afternoon, boys."

Deepfreeze came in low, moving with surety that belied actual combat experience, and he threw a combination of quick punches at me. I wove away smoothly—staying just beyond his reach—as I ducked, twisted and danced lightly on the balls of my feet with unnatural agility that he couldn't possible hope to match.

He kept trying to close the distance between us, trying to get in that one single hit that would freeze me down to the bone. But I knew all his tricks. There was no comparison between my speed and his, nor could he compete with my absolute understanding of the environment. To top it all off, I knew exactly what he was going to do ten seconds before he went through with it, which was more than enough time to subvert any and all attempts to put me down.

"Now!"

Deepfreeze rolled away, reacting to a prearranged signal, and Lancer fired a beam of energy right at me.

But I'd seen it coming from a mile away.

I switched powers again, dropping the precognition just as an invisible shield absorbed the energy blast without so much as scratch on me. The potent attack didn't dissipate or reflect off my defenses; instead, it simply disappeared, stripped of all its energy.

I normally wouldn't have been this careless with my powers; people tended to notice when you used unrelated and unfamiliar abilities. That's how rumors started, and Legend had spent a long time stressing the necessity of discretion. He claimed that if people knew what I could do, they wouldn't ever leave me alone, but I didn't really care tonight.

I just wanted to forget.

"Goddamnit," Lancer shouted, retreating a few steps. "My blasts don't work! Get her!"

I grabbed onto a chunk of fallen concrete and whipped it towards Deepfreeze just as he struck again. His fist halted short of me, the inertia bleeding from his attack, and the telekinetically propelled object hammered him into the tarmac with unerring accuracy. It was a nonlethal but incapacitating shot, one from which he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Lancer stared at his fallen friend for a pregnant moment before whirling about and making to run, but he was caught from behind by the same chunk of concrete and joined his friend on the ground, both of them down for the count.

Like I said: fucking amateurs.

"Retreat!" a voiced called out from not far behind me. "Sentinel's here! It's time to go!"

Rampage let loose a string of curses as Obdurate and two other capes fled down the street, followed by a loose string of gun-toting gangbangers. It seemed like the rival gang wasn't too eager to fight the People, at least not when I was around. They were cutting their losses and making a run for it, most likely hoping I would take care of the enemy for them.

Instead of chasing down the fleeing capes, Rampage turned to stare at me across the distance that separated us, clearly displeased at my untimely arrival.

"Seems like I spoiled your fun." My lips curled in a menacing smile. "I just couldn't resist a meeting with the People's finest capes."

"I've heard of you!" he called out. "Sentinel, eh? Some kind of blaster?"

"Some kinda blaster," I agreed, not caring to correct him; surprise was half of victory. "Are you up for a round against me, or are you gonna turn tail and run like the rest of them?"

"Don't tell me what to do." He laughed. "You're in People territory now, little girl."

"See, I've never been quite clear on that." I began to walk steadily towards him. "Is it just 'People' or is it 'the People'? Seriously, sometimes I stay up at night and just wonder: what the fuck is wrong with you People?"

Rampage slapped his fists together and grinned. "I'm going enjoy ripping you apart."

I flipped him the bird. "Big words, small dick. Why don't you come here and try—"

That's when the car hit me.

The improvised battering ram plummeted down from behind me and came to a sudden halt as it slammed into my anti-energy field, but enough force managed to slip past my defense to send me stumbling forward. Stripped of all its momentum, the vehicle hung above me for a moment before it toppled back onto the road in a twisted lump of metal and glass.

Shit. Forgot about the other guy, I thought, wincing slightly in pain.

It was unbelievably careless of me, to tell the truth. I might have been seriously injured if I was using the wrong ability, and something like this normally wouldn't have happened. Over the years, I'd developed a near-constant habit that helped me stay alive despite a few impossible situations.

My precognition was limited to ten seconds. Logically, if I used the ability once every ten seconds, I would know what was about to hit me, whether or not I was actively in precog mode. It's not like my knowledge of the future disappeared once I moved on to another power, but it was honestly far from perfect. The future wasn't fixed in stone, and the smallest variables could alter an outcome. There were many holes in my trick, enough to make me paranoid all the time, but it was a working substitute for staying constantly in precog mode.

A barely working substitute.

I clearly wasn't in the best state of mind if I'd let my habit slip. It was unforgivable, and Legend would be pissed if he ever found out. In his book, it was one thing to be defeated due to an overwhelming force and another to fail because of your own stupidity. The latter was inexcusable and unbecoming of a trained hero, 'because heroes didn't have the luxury to lose when others depended on them for protection.'

Get your head back in the game, I thought harshly.

Rampage's eyes widened as he realized his attempt to distract me hadn't exactly panned out as he'd planned. An attack like that might've taken most other capes out of the fight, but my combination of an anti-energy field and telekinesis made for a deadly combination against any Brute.

Very little short of an Alexandria-level attack would likely get past the shield. During one of our earlier tests, Legend's blasts had ripped through my shields when he really pushed it, but he had the combined firepower of an entire artillery division. There were quite a few capes out there whose powers packed enough of a punch to bring down my anti-energy shield, so I knew better than to trust it unquestioningly. Still, it made for a near absolute defence against any Blaster or Brute with a rating below 5, and it could take a good deal more than that if necessary.

"Not what you expected?" I mocked lightly, levitating the car over my head and ignoring the powerful bellow that echoed from behind me. "How about we test it on you – see if you can back up those threats?"

Rampage charged in my direction, practically leaping across the distance, and I hurled the car away from me but not at him. Instead, I targeted the cape coming at me from behind, his heavy footfalls practically shaking the road under my feet.

That's one massive son-of-a-bitch.

I turned just in time to see the misshapen cape slam into my projectile. He was seven feet tall, a warped giant formed entirely of corded muscle and straining tendons. The man was ugly, a grotesque creature out of nightmare, and a pair of furious green eyes stared out from behind his drooping eyelids.

Troll.

That's all I actually made out before he flicked the car out of his way and rammed a massive fist into my chest.

I felt it.

Or more appropriately, it was like getting punched by a twelve-year-old boy, which is admittedly quite painful if you aren't expecting it. It left me just a little winded, but by no means did it slow me down.

I switched to precognition and twisted on my back foot, effortlessly avoiding an attack that would have caught me from my blindspot. Rampage blew right past me in an uncontrolled charge and struck Troll instead, sending them both in a tumble off the road and through a nearby building. A cloud of powdered brink and concrete exploded outward from the point of impact, obscuring them from my sight, and I heard Troll's dull bellow of rage echo from the interior of the damaged structure.

I snorted, walking towards the hole they'd ripped through the side of the building. "Nice work, dumbass!"

Troll launched himself out of the gap, roaring as he came, and I lifted my palm to meet him, activating my final power. It was a wonderful combination, a thinker ability that allowed me to ferret out and exploit weaknesses in even the most sophisticated defenses and a striker power that generated a massive output of physical force on contact.

In the beginning, it had been a hassle to juggle my abilities without slipping up. Dedication, focus and months of training with Legend had given way to an instinctual edge that I'd never had before. Now, I could switch seamlessly from one combination to another, using whatever I skill I needed without so much a thought.

And so it took a split-second to ready myself, and face the animal charging at me.

For a moment, Troll came to a perfect standstill—as if suspended in time—and then he hurtled back in the direction he had come, slamming into Rampage who was on his way out. They both disappeared into the interior of the building once again, and probably right out the other side.

But I never got the chance to find out, because a glaring radiance descended from the sky, coming to a rest in almost the same exact spot I had occupied at the beginning of the fight.

I glanced up into a pair of glowing eyes.

It was Legend, and he didn't look happy.

* * *

><p>1.3<p>

"Taylor. Just because you can fight them doesn't mean you should—"

Luke threw his hands up in frustration as Taylor's shape dissolved, coming apart right at the seams and dissipating into thin air as if she had never existed to begin with.

This hadn't been the first time she'd left in the middle of a conversation, using her very handy ability to dematerialize in order to escape from him. Luke swallowed a curse and bounded back up the stairs towards his bedroom. Arthur, asleep on his side of the bed, didn't notice until Luke was already in costume and heading out of the door.

"Is everything alright?"

Luke froze and turned slowly, trying to smile reassuringly. "Yes?" he replied, annoyed that it came out sounding like a question. "I mean, yes…everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

Arthur sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I thought I heard Taylor calling out in her sleep."

Damn, there wouldn't be any hiding it now and lying really wasn't an option, even though it would probably save his husband some worry.

Arthur hadn't wanted Taylor to join the Wards, and it was convenient that she'd never wanted to. Instead, the girl had decided to become an independent hero without a proper support system out in the field, which was far worse. The mortality rate for independent heroes was unbelievably high, not that Legend was worried about Taylor dying in battle.

I trained her well. I trained her to fight beside the best.

He would have liked her to join the Wards, but she never even gave the prospect a moment's thought. Not after what she had been through when Leviathan hit Brockton Bay.

The Protectorate had been far too slow to respond. They'd managed to form a barely adequate defence against the hydrokinetic Endbringer, but the lack of sufficient warning had left them unprepared for the brutal onslaught. Leviathan had slipped right past the defensive line and charged straight for the closest shelter.

In Taylor's eyes, the Protectorate had failed in its most important duty to the people. When it truly mattered, they hadn't been able to protect the city, but that was the reality of all Endbringer battles.

People died. Sometimes, even cities disappeared.

Taylor's prejudice against the Protectorate was a result of grief and anger, but strong emotions such as those were almost never rational. And Legend would forever represent that failure, at least in her eyes. She would never accept this place as her home—nor would she accept New York as her city.

Luke knew it was inevitable, that one day she would leave, but he hoped to delay it as long as possible. If she ever returned to Brockton Bay…there would be blood. Her will was unbending, her yen for justice too powerful to simply let the gangs run rampant across her city. He had kept her sheltered from all of it, hoping to hide the reality of Brockton Bay, but she probably knew enough to form her own opinions.

"Has something happened to Taylor?" Arthur's voice was firm now, and Luke was drawn out of his troubled reverie.

"She…she decided to go out on patrol," he replied. "I know, I know. It's dangerous, and she isn't in any state of mind to be fighting right now. I'm sorry about this, but I really have to go get her."

Arthur shut his eyes and lay back down. "Don't spend too long, and go easy on her. It isn't like she asked for any of this."

None of us did, but he's right.

As far as triggers went, Taylor's was amongst the worst, and she had too many reconciled other issues. Leaving behind her home, her only remaining family and a friend whom she treated like a sister. The girl was isolated, without a single friend to lean on, and it was made all that worse by her power set.

Five different combinations condensed in a single cape who wasn't too happy with her life. If she ever went down the path of villainy, it would take nothing short of the Triumvirate to bring her in, and it hurt to even contemplate the possibility of fighting her someday. If she ever broke, buckled under the weight of her past, the ultimate decision of what to do would inevitably fall to him.

Taylor would never be his daughter, but the thought of fighting her wasn't one he wanted to consider. Theirs was not a relationship of father and daughter. There was a distance between her and the rest of them. Keith was thirteen, and try as he might to understand Taylor, he could never comprehend what she had been through. Nor could Arthur, for that matter.

Legend understood, however. He had watched so many friends die. Good and kind people, innocents all of them. Which was why he knew how close Taylor was the edge.

And if Alexandria ever found out he had been hiding such a powerful cape, she would be furious. Perhaps enough to confront Taylor, forcing her to join the Protectorate or perhaps serve the purposes of Cauldron. Knowing Taylor, of course, a suggestion like that would be met with brutal force.

The last thing Luke wanted was to be caught in a fight between those two.

Legend left the house and used the cover of darkness to conceal his steady ascent into the sky.

"Dispatch," he spoke calmly as soon as the call was answered. "Give me a location on Sentinel."

"…"

"Dispatch?"

"The thing is…"

* * *

><p>1.4<p>

I switched and propelled myself down a nearby alley, flying mere feet from the ground as I wove from one street to another, moving with rapidity and skill that few capes could ever hope to emulate.

Unfortunately, Legend was one of those few.

In fact, there probably wasn't a cape on earth better than he was at flying. He had no upward limit to his velocity, nor did he suffer from human error when it came to navigation in flight. The man could probably fly through hailstorm and not even get hit once, and I really wish I were exaggerating.

So any attempt to evade him was an exercise in futility, but I wasn't prepared to speak to him. God, but he was scary in costume. It was easy to snap at Luke, to joke around and get angry with him, but Legend was another matter entirely. When the costume came on, he became the Legend, head of the Protectorate and veteran of countless Endbringer battles—a true survivor.

Which is why it pissed me off so damn much that he let the People run rampant in his city. They were spreading across the whole country like an infestation, and the Protectorate wasn't doing shit about it.

I pulled up and took a vertical path out of the streets, rising above the towering skyscrapers and away from anyone who could be injured. When I waited until I was a safe distance from the city and then let loose, spilling my anger out in a wave of flowing plasma.

The air caught fire, a massive column of pure light and fire trailed behind me like the tail of a racing comet.

Legend tore through the heat and light as if it wasn't even there, coming abreast of me and flying with obvious ease. I knew the temperature had to be well over four thousand degrees, because I could easily melt a solid block of metal in seconds, but Legend had probably handled much worse fighting Behemoth.

It pissed me off—pissed me off that he could keep up with me no matter where I ran, that my abilities were practically useless against him. He was too fast, too agile and too goddamn resilient.

The leader of the Protectorate raised his hand and signaled. The message was clear: stop now.

With a sharp exhalation, I drew up and released the plasma field, but the storm of fire kept moving, spreading out in a wave right beneath the clouds and casting a radiant brightness across the bottom surface.

Legend didn't speak, but only because he couldn't. The wind moaned and screamed around us in a rising thermal, and it was several long moments before the temperature had dropped sufficiently enough for him to speak.

"Had enough?" he asked, sounding almost amused. "Or maybe you want to burn down the whole city?"

"No thanks," I gritted out. "I'm done for now."

Legend drifted closer, looking away from me and out across the expanse of night. "What you did tonight was foolish, and it could take me weeks to mend bridges with the People."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Mend bridges?" I demanded. "Mend fucking bridges? They—those people—are villains! How can you just let them overrun this city? You, of all people!"

"How I wish it were that simple." Legend's laugh was devoid of humor. "There was a time when I would have driven them from these streets without a second thought, but we don't have that luxury anymore, especially where the People are concerned."

I knew what he meant, even though I didn't like it one bit. The People had gathered momentum in the last decade, recruiting enough capes into its ranks to become a serious powerhouse, and they ensured their security by threatening to withhold aid during Endbringer attacks.

It was dirty, despicable and wonderfully effective.

If the Protectorate actively targeted them, they refused to help. Normally, a threat like that would be answered by a visit from the higher echelons of Protectorate capes, but the People had enough fighters at their disposal to produce a discernable advantage during Endbringer events. And no one could afford the loss of that edge, little as it was.

"In the long run," Legend continued, as if he knew what I was thinking, "the losses we'll suffer if the People decide not to help will be much worse than anything they can do on these streets. They might not care for the law, nor for the citizens of this country, but they'll fight beside us when it matters so long as the Protectorate maintains its distance."

I swallowed the anger that threatened to tear free and struggled to moderate my tone. "Well, you don't have to worry about pissing them off," I replied. "For all they know, you chased me off."

Legend grinned wryly. "That isn't entirely inaccurate."

"Maybe not," I agreed. "But it'll help keep up appearances if we don't correct the reporters. This'll be all over the news by tomorrow."

"I'm afraid you're right," he responded, clearly frustrated. "Now you want to tell me what's really going on with you?"

"What?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he answered. "You have nightmares almost every other night, but this was different."

"It wasn't," I replied stubbornly.

"If you say so…" Legend glanced at me. "But there's something more going on, I think I have the right to ask you about it. It may have an impact on all of us."

It was a while before I mustered the courage to speak again, and I just came out and said. "I'm going back to Brockton Bay."

* * *

><p>1.5<p>

Arthur placed a mug of hot cocoa on the table in front of Taylor and sat down with Luke beside him.

It was three in the morning and he had to be at the office in just a few hours, but what was happening here—in his home—was far more important than any of that. After all, Taylor had been with them for almost four years now, and the prospect of not having her around anymore hurt.

It really hurt.

But there was a sliver of relief deep down in him, in some corner of his unconscious mind, and he was ashamed to even acknowledge it. How could he be relieved about her leaving? Why was his own mind betraying him like this?

It was a stupid question. Arthur knew why, even if he wasn't willing to admit it.

Taylor's interactions with Luke were terse and teeming with bitterness, but she was unfailing polite to everyone else, and Arthur had shared more than a few moments of genuine affection and humor with her over the years. What's more, she took care of herself, cleaned up after her own messes, and there was an air of independence about her that would have made any parent proud. Even Keith looked up to her, although he was careful about what he said when Taylor was around.

And that was thing, wasn't it?

Taylor had a cold edge to her. A carefully restrained violence lingering under the surface, hidden behind those fierce brown eyes. There were times when the mask slipped, especially when she thought no one was watching, and something ugly would show itself.

Hatred and rage.

It was made so much worse by Luke's many decisions, amongst those the choice to train her personally. Arthur didn't like to think about what his husband did and had done in the past, but he knew Legend—the cape—was feared by more than a few, and not just for his sheer power but also for what he had done with that power.

There was probably a file somewhere that contained the names of those Luke had personally put down. Evil, terrible people, but humans nonetheless.

And Luke had molded Taylor to his own image, all in the hope of giving her tools that would one-day aid in her survival. She was a weapon, a trained fighter, and she had more than enough power to back her up.

Was it unreasonable to feel relief, if only for a moment?

Perhaps it was, but he couldn't help himself.

"So…" Arthur began gently. "You want to leave New York?"

Taylor had removed her gold mask, but she was still in costume. It was smooth, emphasizing her greyhound form, and hard muscles rippled under the tinker-fabric as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

The girl dragged a hand through her hair and shrugged uncertainly. "It's not so much that I want to leave, but I really don't think…"

She shook her head.

"Taylor."

"Yes?"

"If you're worried about hurting our feelings, then I'm afraid you don't know us that well." Arthur reached across and placed his hand over hers. "Returning to Brockton Bay is an important decision, and you seem to have made it all on your own. I just want to make sure it's for the right reasons, that it isn't somehow…our fault. I would be able to live with myself if I ever made you feel unwelcome in this home—"

"No!" Taylor's voice was harsh, horrified almost. "Y-You've always treated me so well. I swear this has nothing to do with my life here."

Luke cleared his throat. "Is that really true? You don't have any friends here, and you've been spending all your time locked away in your room or out on patrol. There isn't a single cape in the city who has clocked as many hours as you in the past year."

"I know," she sighed, "but I can't change who I am, you know? Being a hero is all I know."

"You're far more than just a hero, Taylor. I hope you realize that someday." Arthur squeezed her hand. "And while you probably don't feel up to having this conversation, I think there's a lot to discuss. We want what's best for you—always—but we can't help unless you talk to us."

Taylor nodded reluctantly.

"So what changed?" he asked. "Why are you so interested in Brockton Bay all of a sudden?"

"Well…it's not exactly sudden," she replied finally. "I've wanted to return for a while now. It's just that I…it's where I'm from. As much as I want to call New York my home, it isn't the same as Brockton."

Taylor sipped her cocoa and licked the foam off her lips, clearly stalling in order to gather her thoughts. "There's more to it, of course," she continued. "I'm not really need here. As a hero, I mean."

Luke opened his mouth, but Arthur silenced him with a sharp look.

"In the end, everyone's afraid of Legend." She smiled slightly. "They know better than to push their luck too far. And there're more than enough heroes here to keep the peace even if matters escalate."

"So you want to go somewhere you might be needed?"

Taylor nodded. "Brockton Bay is being torn apart," she replied. "There are at least six individual gangs operating in the city and two mercenary groups who're making money off the turmoil. That's not all: there's talk on PHO that Accords crew and the Teeth might be muscling in, as if Boston isn't big enough for him."

"Director Piggott has an eye on the situation," Legend began earnestly. "And Armsmaster has years of experience when it comes to situations like this. He's assured me—"

"Let me tell you something about Armsmaster!" Taylor retorted sharply. "He's an incompetent, pussyfooting idiot. The city is burning down around him, and he has the gall to go on live television and tell everyone the 'severity of the situation in Brockton Bay has been exaggerated.'"

Legend straightened defensively. "I trust him to do his job. You might have forgotten, but he was part of the very first Ward team in the United States."

"Hero's most prized student; the idol of every single Tinker." Taylor snorted. "I know you're friend trained him, and that it would probably be an insult to Hero's memory if you ever spoke a word against Armsmaster, but have you ever heard the man speak? He's a politician, more concerned about his losing his position than he is about taking care of the city.

"He throws around terms like 'threat assessment', 'tactical realities' and 'diplomatic solutions,'" Taylor continued fiercely, "as if it can somehow cover up the fact that he hasn't done shit to help the city in a long time,"

"Armsmaster speaks like that all the time," Luke replied. "He isn't trying to cover any up. He's just socially inept—always has been. The man doesn't like public appearances, so he hides behind vague phrases and stock terms. That's just who he is."

"Maybe you're right—I don't know it's true or not," Taylor said. "I've read into him, and there was a time when he did real hero work, but those days are long gone. Armsmaster is waiting for his ticket out of Brockton Bay, and he's putting off direct action because he's afraid of screwing up!"

"We're going of topic," Arthur interrupted, worried about the rising temper. "Let's set that aside—"

"It's not as easy to protect a city as you seem to think it is," Legend countered, his tone as moderate and controlled as ever. "There are countless elements to contend with, not the least of which are the political and legal constraints on our authority. Believe it or not, the Protectorate is accountable to the American public and we must conduct our actions under the provisions of numerous Acts of Congress. We are not vigilantes, and Armsmaster has to justify his actions. If he abuses his powers, he places the whole organization in danger, not just himself."

Taylor gritted her teeth. "That's fair, it really is, but your argument fails to hold up when a whole city is on the verge of complete anarchy," she replied earnestly. "The law has its place, and it's important for the Protectorate to mind how it uses its power, but everyone gave up on Brockton Bay the moment Leviathan attacked."

Arthur swallowed whatever protest he was about to raise as realization struck.

Leviathan had ruined Taylor's life, and it had done the same to her city of birth. Arthur could see the parallel between the two, a city in decline and a girl who had lost her home and family, all because of the same event.

Guilt—that's what drove her. Guilt and sheer fury.

It must be hell in her head.

"It's as if no one cares anymore," she murmured, her anger dying down. "I can't sit back while my home burns. I can hear it in Emma's voice when I speak to her. She talks about the gangs as if they're part of everyday life. She's seen so much shit that she's desensitized to it. And I know Dad's been working hard to fix the city. He's fixed most of the Boardwalk, and he might even stand for the election. I have to be there to help; he's done far more than I have, and he doesn't even have powers."

Luke said nothing, and Arthur was glad his husband at least had that much sense. He loved the man, but Luke's unshakable calm and logic could be infuriating at times.

"I might've been a little too hard on you," she admitted after a moment, glancing in Luke's direction. "I hope you realize that it's not you I blame. The villains are responsible for what's happening, but sometimes the negligence of those in power is just as wrong. You taught me that, Luke. You taught me what it meant to be a hero…and I don't see how I can reconcile what's happening in Brockton Bay with anything you imparted.

"Armsmaster is a great fighter, an intimidating man if PHO is to be believed, but he's dropped the ball one too many times." Taylor's voice took on an edge of determination, and Arthur knew that while she remained in body, her mind was already in Brockton. There was no holding her back anymore. "I intend to fix my home, whether or not the PRT and Protectorate are willing to back me up. I understand that may put pressure on you in the coming months, but I hope you can forgive me someday."

Luke—or perhaps it was Legend in that brief moment—seemed more weary and troubled than he had in many years. It was almost like he saw a disaster approaching, something beyond his control, and he was helpless against it.

"We all have a path to walk," Luke said, stooping his head. "I hope you understand…I can never betray my people. I stand for a certain ideal, and I will live and die by it. Armsmaster has always struck me as a man who upheld justice, and I can't find it in me to agree with you."

"I know." Soft and quiet, Taylor's words were filled with affection. "I wouldn't respect you otherwise. You're loyal to your people…always."

"Be careful, Taylor," Luke said after a moment's silence, standing up. "I've seen others walk down this path, and not all of them have emerged from it as heroes. As much as we might deny it, those of us with power can only hold on to it if we fight, and sometimes we lose ourselves in the frenzy of battle so that we fight for no other reason than to hold our position, as unjustified as it might me."

"That won't happen to me."

"So claimed those who came before you, and so many others will claim in the future, but I wish you the best in your endeavors." Luke walked to the door but stopped short. "See me before you leave. There are some things you need to know."

Then he was gone, and Arthur released a breath. "That was intense."

"Sorry," Taylor said sheepishly. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It's…"

"You feel strongly on the topic, I understand."

She grinned, but it was tempered by sadness. "You should have been a therapist; you're wasted as a lawyer."

"What?" Arthur protested. "I'm an excellent lawyer."

"Yeah, but that's not really something to boast about, you know."

"Smart ass."

"Lawyer."

"Hey!" he replied, smacking her shoulder. "Stop that! I enjoy being a lawyer, you know. Besides, I clock thousands of pro bono hours a year. I'm an even greater hero than you and Luke."

"But do you get to wear spandex?" she asked smugly, chortling at his hurt expression. "That's what I thought. Can't be a hero unless you've suffered a wedgy or two, especially at the most inconvenient moments."

"Oh?" Arthur demanded. "Well, I'll have you know that not the other day, I stood up in court with the worst wedgy possible. It was right up—"

"What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Taylor fell over laughing, and Arthur twisted in his seat to look at Keith, who had stumbled into the living room in a sleepy haze and was clearly disturbed by what he had just heard.

"I was just explaining some important legal strategies," he replied. "In case Taylor ever decides to change professions."

Keith rolled his eyes and dropped into one of the empty sofas. "Riiiight," he replied with exaggerated slowness. "That's fascinating, but really: what were you talking about? I saw the lights on outside and heard you guys laughing. And why are you in costume?"

Taylor sobered suddenly and looked away, guilt flitting across her face. "I…"

"We'll talk in morning, Keith," Arthur interrupted. "You look tired. Go on, you need your rest for school tomorrow."

"So does Taylor!"

"Keith."

He must have realized something more was going on, because he gave them both a brief look before grumbling and making his way back up to his room.

"You know," Arthur said once he was gone. "He's right about school. Do you plan on transferring?"

"Well—"

"What about lodging?" he asked, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I didn't ask! Where are you going to stay?"

Taylor smoothed a hand through her thick head of hair. "I've got a nest egg saved away from all the property I've seized over the past two years," she replied. "A lot of it went to paying back Luke for having my costume made for me, and refitting it whenever I had a growth spurt, but I've got more than enough to set myself up in an apartment."

"I can give you more…?"

"No," Taylor replied immediately. "I honestly have everything under control. Believe it or not, this wasn't a spontaneous decision."

"You won't be staying with Danny, then?"

Taylor shrugged. "He doesn't deserve the stress of having me around."

"You should give him a chance," Arthur said carefully. "He didn't want to let you go back then."

"I know," Taylor replied, sounding completely honest. "Mom…she had just died, and the city was in ruins. We didn't have a home, or any money for that matter. I'd just triggered as well, and there were gangs everywhere. I bet he leapt at the chance when Luke offered to take me away, and he did it all for me. It wasn't to save himself from pain, but to protect me."

Arthur blinked. "I thought…"

"That I blamed him?" Taylor seemed incredulous. "I know my father better than to accuse him of abandoning me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to burden him when I get back to Brockton Bay. He doesn't need the kind of trouble I'm going to bring.

"I'll be out a lot, having sit downs with heroes and villains alike. It's not going to be all fighting, you know. Luke got that right…there's a lot more to bringing peace than just violence." Taylor clenched her fist. "Not that there aren't a few people down there who have to be dealt with one way or another."

Arthur chose not to comment on that last part. "I'm glad you're approaching all of this maturely, kiddo," he said. "You're going to have to be strong, but that doesn't mean you have to be alone. So if you ever need anything…anyone at all to talk to, I'll always be here. Won't take you less than twenty minutes to fly here at your speed, or call if it's really urgent."

Taylor ducked her head suddenly and wiped at her eyes. "Thanks, Arthur."

"You will always have a place here," he spoke, pulling her against him and holding her tightly. "Don't ever doubt that."

They stayed like that for a while, and they both wondered whether anything would ever be the same again.

* * *

><p>1.6<p>

The moment Legend stepped into the New York Protectorate offices the next morning, he was joined by his second-in-command, a cape in silver and green.

"Prism," he greeted evenly, not slowing his pace as he headed straight up for his office. "How can I help you?"

"Read the headlines lately, boss?" she asked, waving the morning newspaper in his face. "Everyone's talking about how you and Sentinel fought over the skies of New York last night, filling the night with fire, lasers, lightning and god knows what else. It was supposedly biblical in proportion, but I seem to have slept right through it."

Legend didn't even glance down at it, having already spit out his breakfast in the morning when Arthur showed him the newspaper. The image of them racing mere inches above the streets of New York and another shot of the sky quite literally on fire looked too much like an actual battle for him to convince anyone otherwise. The public had made up their mind, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"It's blown out of proportion."

"Of course I know that," Prism answered. "Since Sentinel came on the scene two years ago, you've never been in the same time zone as her, let alone said a word to each other. I've never really asked you about it, but some of the local capes have been wondering whether or not it's because you're afraid she might be tougher than you."

Legend gave her a flat look.

"Hey!" she replied defensively. "I never said anything. Sure, she has an uncanny ability to get out of the worst situations, but she's just a Blaster. You could take her."

"I'm also just a Blaster, in case you've forgotten."

"Nah," Prism remarked smugly. "You've got more going for you than just that."

So does she, Legend thought worriedly. If only you knew.

"At least this will put the rumors to rest," Prism continued, "but the real problem still needs taking care of."

"The People?"

"Them," Prism agreed. "They sent a messenger over before you came in. Apparently, none of them are pleased Sentinel came into their territory and they were forced to drive her off."

Legend almost laughed—almost. "Is that what they claim happened?"

Prism grinned. "I guessed it was a load of crap, or they wouldn't be pissed about it," she replied. "What did Sentinel do anyhow?"

Put down four of their capes, even if they were all useless idiots. Not a single one of them would have lasted more than a few seconds in an Endbringer battle. We need better-trained capes!

"Doesn't matter now," Legend replied. "Tell the People they should be grateful I showed up when I did, and that Sentinel won't be problem for much longer."

"Oh?"

"She's leaving the city."

"Why's that exactly?"

"Things change," he replied shortly. "Seasons come and go."

"Mysterious," Prism quipped. "Should I issue a statement that you're throwing her out for causing trouble?"

Legend turned sharply, his eyes going hard. "Sentinel has been a pillar of heroism from the moment she took up her costume," he snapped. "You will not imply—in any fashion whatsoever—that she is leaving because I forced her out. If anyone of our heroes suggests it, you will make absolutely sure to correct them, and you will do so harshly. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," Prism replied immediately, although she didn't seem the least bit offended. Prism knew her duty, and that was to do as Legend asked. "But the newsies might chase the story around for while if she disappears so soon after your 'fight.'"

"They have never held much stock in my opinion, so let them say what they want." Legend waved her off. "I will do what I have always done: my duty."

And with that, he entered his office and shut the door. He hadn't even sat down yet when the receptionist called.

"Yes?"

"Sir…Sentinel is here to see you,"

Legend's hand tightened around the receiver. "Send her in, James."

"Yes, sir."

He set the phone down a looked around. This would be the first time she ever came here, in or out of costume. It would have been folly to show her around this place in civilian dress, and they had always kept their distance while in costume.

Not that it mattered. His office was impersonal, decorated by an interior designer and never touched at all. There weren't any pictures or objects of personal value. Functional, minimalist and cold—it served its purpose well.

* * *

><p>"Sentinel," Prism greeted, giving her a discreet onceover.<p>

Her black-and-gold costume was unblemished, and the young cape looked perfectly in control, not at all as if she'd had a confrontation with Legend, head of the Protectorate, just the night before. Her mask was intimidating, for all its simple elegance, in that it somehow gave the impression of staring right at a bird of prey.

One that had decided—incidentally—to make a meal of you.

It had more to do with Sentinel's eyes, which were cold and yet somehow expressive. They were light brown and flecked with green, belaying alertness and an edge of stubborn steel. Not for the first time, she was glad Sentinel has chosen the path of a hero, as so few were inclined to lately.

"Prism, I believe?"

"That's right," she replied with an easy smile. "We've met very briefly once or twice. You might not—"

"I remember."

She nodded—enough small talk. "If you could please follow me."

He led her towards the elevators, frowning at one or two capes who stopped to stare at them passing. Unlike Prism, they didn't know the real story of what'd happened the night before, and the all assumed the newspapers were telling the truth. Honestly, not even Prism knew what had actually gone on, but at least she knew there hadn't been a fight.

But that's not what everyone else thought, it probably came as a shock that Sentinel was here…to see Legend, no less.

Sentinel had always been a recluse, operating entirely alone in a city that boasted one of the highest concentration of capes. Which was also why it was so damn unbelievable that she'd lasted this long. Over the years, Prism had known more than a few powerful capes who had decided to follow the independent route, only to find themselves forced into gangs or killed outright.

In a world of teeming with dangerous powers, backup was absolutely necessary, except of course in the case of a rare few capes. Nothing in Sentinel's powers indicated she was that powerful. Sure, she had a highly destructive ability, one that allowed her to generate and mold plasma, enough to surround herself with an impregnable inferno, but Sentinel rarely displayed that kind of power inside the city.

She couldn't, not with the ever-present risk of fires spreading uncontrollably.

So what was her secret? Could it be just pure skill or perhaps a battle sense of some sort? There were more than a few capes who kept abilities like that hidden from the public in order to give them that critical edge in a fight.

"So…" Prism asked finally, as they stepped into the elevator. "How do you know Legend?"

She didn't react at all to the question. No nervousness or annoyance, and certainly not any fear. In fact, much like Legend, she seemed to have a tight lid on her emotions, presenting a stoic façade to the rest of the world.

"We met last night," she said briefly.

"I saw on the news," Prism responded when it was clear there would be no elaboration. "Legend assured me they had it all wrong."

Once again—nothing.

That's fair, she thought. It's not like I asked a direction question. If I wanted the truth, I should have just come out and said it.

The elevator doors opened, and they proceeded down the corridor.

"Well," Prism announced, pushing the door to Legend's office open. "Here you are. Good luck."

"Thank you," she replied, but then turned around midstride as if struck by an afterthought. "And for what it's worth…they did get it wrong."

Legend indicated the empty seat across from his desk. "Sit," he ordered, though not unkindly. "There are a few things I have to tell you, and I might be called away on urgent business in the next few days so now's the best time to get it out of the way."

Sentinel approached, taking in the space around her with a calm perusal that no doubt mapped out every possible escape route. "You know," she said, once she was settled. "I was surprised when you asked me to come here. Was it for my sake?"

"And why would you think that?"

"Because you want to put an end to the rumors," she replied, lips twisting in the facsimile of a smile. "By inviting me here, you send a clear message to everyone about where I stand. I've never known a villain to visit this building, which means you must consider me a hero. Not just a hero either, but hero of the highest caliber if you've gone as far as to grant me a private meeting."

Legend inclined his head. "I taught you well, but there was never any doubt where that's concerned."

"I hope not." She sounded indignant. "I poured blood and sweat into your lessons."

"That you did," he admitted, "but we're here to talk about other things. Now, before you put up any walls, I'm not trying to change your mind about staying, but I hope you might rethink your strategy—whatever it may be—once you've heard what I have to say."

"I'm listening."

Legend reached under his desk and depressed a small button installed there. "I have activated—"

"Anti-surveillance measures," Sentinel completed. "I know."

He shook his head ruefully. "That precognition of yours is damn useful. It'll be a shame to lose you."

"I never really belonged to New York," the young cape replied, a note of sadness finally showing. "See it as returning borrowed property, if it makes you feel any better.

"It doesn't." Legend straightened in his seat and looked right at her. "Tell me what you know about Cauldron."

"Cauldron? I think that's the first time I've heard—" She stopped sudden and cocked her head, seeming more like a hunting bird in that moment than ever before. "Cauldron…Cauldron…that name sounds oddly familiar."

"Oh?" He hadn't expected her to know anything at all. "How so?"

Sentinel blinked. "It was a year ago, I believe," she replied. "I hit a known drug house where there had been a few reported sightings of local villains. I captured one of them, a cape by the name of Claymore, and all he did was laugh in my face."

"Where does Cauldron come in?" Legend asked, but he already suspected the answer.

Claymore had been given a deal. Immunity from prosecution if he served in the Protectorate for a length of seven years without violating his probation. Alexandria had pressured him into offering the agreement, but he'd sent the former villain off to another a city once it was done.

"He said something when I was handing him over to your people," she continued. "Something along the lines of 'Cauldron would get him out.'"

Legend sighed. "I see."

"And now that I think of it," Sentinel muttered darkly. "I don't remember hearing about him ever again. I never asked, but my part has always been prevention of crime, not prosecution. Still, it would've come to my attention if he was convicted."

"I'm afraid he wasn't," Legend replied. "Claymore signed on with us on a seven-year probation, with the stipulation that any criminal conduct even after the term was over would result in immediate transfer to the Birdcage."

"Son of a…" Sentinel let out a deep breath. "I know shit like this happens from time to time, but I'm pretty sure he killed an innocent bystander. The man has no place fighting beside anyone, not with his ability. He has no control over what he does, exploding everywhere like it's the fourth of fucking January."

Legend tried not to feel some shame at the part he'd played in the farce, but it was pointless trying to deny his own culpability. Ignorance was not a suitable trait in any leader, and willful ignorance was even worse. Just because he hadn't asked Alexandria any questions about Claymore didn't mean the answers were unknown to him.

Cauldron cape, but not a Case-53.

"So what, or who, is Cauldron?" Sentinel asked. "A secret society inside the Protectorate? Some gentleman's club I'm not invited to? A gang of villains?"

Legend leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. "They are more along the lines of an organization, much like the People," he replied, "the difference being that the People are disordered and lacking proper direction. They are scattered cells, often isolated from one another, but with a central leadership in the Midwest.

"Cauldron, on the other hand," he continued, "is far more secretive and infinitely more dangerous. They don't care about heroes, villains or territories. As far as they're concerned, either you're an asset, a threat or completely irrelevant. Where you find yourself on that limited spectrum in the coming days may decide whether or not you survive in your mission to clean up the streets of Brockton Bay."

He had to give Sentinel points for not blowing up right there. If someone had said that to him in his golden days of heroism, he would've thrown caution to the wind and challenged anyone who came in his way.

She sat quiet, but not afraid. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

"So what is Cauldron's stock and trade?"

"What?"

"What is their agenda?" she asked. "If I want to stay out of their way, I need to know what they're about."

Legend almost laughed. "That's it? You're not going to ask me who they are, where they might be found or why I haven't done anything about them?"

"If you knew any of that," Sentinel replied with an affectionate smile, "you would have taken care of them by now. You're too noble to let it pass, the business the People withstanding. They must be well hidden if you haven't found them so far, and I don't have even half the resources you do. How can I succeed where you've failed?"

Legend faltered, and a part of him deep down inside withered and died.

That she would have such blind faith in him—him—the greatest fraud of all. Alexandria at least admitted to not being worthy of the worship she attracted in the masses, and she had molded her image according to a certain dark creed.

The anti-hero—a detached protector, unremorseful in her methods.

Legend, on the other hand, had set himself up to be the paragon of justice. Sometimes, he even managed to fool himself, so convincing were his lies. And that he would have spun such a perfect tale…he felt sick to his stomach, and he knew she couldn't know the truth.

His plan had been to tell her as much as possible, but perhaps warning her was more than enough.

"Their agenda," he managed to say, shutting down his emotions, "is not entirely clear, but it may have to do with selling parahuman powers."

Sentinel frowned. "Is that even possible?"

"Case-53s are examples of their failed experiments, but there are more than a few capes out there with ordinary powers."

"Claymore?"

"Him and many others."

"Shit." The girl shook her head and turned to stare out the window. "I had no clue anything like this was happening. They're probably in it for money and influence, if you ask me. I wouldn't be surprised if most of these capes didn't stay indebted to Cauldron even after paying them off. Future favors in exchange for powers. They might even have a private force of parahumans at their disposal."

Good, he thought. You're using your head. Don't ever lower your guard.

"So it would probably piss them off if I targeted any of their capes," Sentinel continued, almost to herself. "We know for a fact that Claymore was one of their creations, and they obviously have people in the PRT and Protectorate if they managed to get him an immunity agreement. Cauldron is playing both sides of the fence, and they don't seem to fear you all that much."

"So it seems."

Sentinel shrugged. "That honestly changes nothing," she replied. "I can't identify a Cauldron cape on sight alone, so I won't be able to differentiate between ordinary villains and one of theirs. Not that it would matter to me. If these people infested my city with villains, then they deserve whatever I send their way. I won't be intimidated by a faceless organization. Living in fear…it's poison to the soul."

She stood up. "If that's all…?"

Legend followed her example. "Mostly," he replied. "I had some advice lined up. A long speech, but I don't think you need to be reminded of the collateral damage that might result from an all-out war."

"No."

"And that if you decide to fight the Protectorate capes in Brockton Bay…there will be consequences."

"From you?" Her voice took on a distinct chill.

"I'll try to stay out of it for as long as possible," Legend answered, "but I have no control over Alexandria. She takes threats to the organization seriously, and she will personally fly over the Brockton if the situation becomes untenable."

"I can handle her."

Legend shook his head sadly. "She's gone toe-to-toe with most powerful capes on Earth," he replied. "In fact, the two of you could be sisters. Your temperament and certainty is remarkably similar. The one difference being, of course, that she was fighting battles before you were even born."

"Difference being," Sentinel countered. "That I have more than a few powers at my disposal. I'll hold her off just fine."

"Don't be a fool." Legend walked around the table to stand before her. "She's proud and confident, but Alexandria is also a consummate tactician. If she thinks victory is beyond her, she'll summon an army to your doorstep with a single phone call. Hell, she might even conscript the People to fight you, and they'll jump at the opportunity after what happened yesterday."

"Still treating me like a child?"

"I'm trying to help."

Sentinel snorted. "You should know better than to assume I need help," she replied. "I've spent the past six months pouring over tactical reports and battle analyses going back a decade. I know about everyone, from Alexandria and Eidolon down to the irrelevant little Wards running around Brockton Bay."

"Tactical reports?" Legend asked slowly. "How did you get your hands on those?"

"Are you forgetting…?"

"What?"

"My fifth ability!" she snapped. "I can find and exploit weaknesses in any defence, and that includes those firewalls protecting your data. Provided, it took me six whole months to learn what I needed in order to hack your systems and get my hands on the information. Dragon gave me a run for my money once or twice, but Thinker abilities can be a real bitch when used properly."

And with that, Sentinel strode out of the room.

What a disaster.

The moment she was gone, Legend reached for his phone and punched in a number from memory.

"Hello."

"Colin, this is Luke speaking."

"Sir," he replied, sounding surprised. "How are you?"

"Not too well, considering," he answered. "There's a matter I need to discuss with you immediately, but it has to be in person."

"I can take the first flight—"

"No," Legend interrupted. "I'm on my way now to your house."

"What about the Rig?"

"I want to keep it under wraps," Legend replied. "Come alone. You can tell Hannah after I'm gone, but I don't want to alert anyone."

"Understood, sir," he responded. "I'm heading there now."

Legend cut the call and punched in another number, speaking the moment it was answered. "Prism."

"Boss?"

"I heading to Brockton Bay," he said promptly. "This is a head's up that I won't be available for a short while. Tell no one about this."

"I work for you."

That's all the reassurance he needed. "Good. The reins are in your hands, so try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."

His second-in-command laughed on the other end. "Won't be the first time I've run operations."

"No it won't," he agreed. "You're an invaluable part of the team, Prism. I don't say it enough, but you are."

There was a shocked silence on the other end. "Thank you…?"

"Yes."

Legend walked to the window and threw it open, flitting out like a sprite from one of his childhood fairy tales.

Within seconds, New York had disappeared behind him. The world narrowed down to a point, his consciousness thinning to the simple yet inexplicably complex understanding of light waves.

Everything ceased to exist.

He pulled up, decelerated and came to a halt…three miles above Brockton Bay. How long had it taken him to make the journey? Five minutes, or perhaps even less?

What does it matter?

Legend stooped and dove towards the city below.

* * *

><p>1.7<p>

Colin let Luke in through the back door, but there was really no point since the leader of the Protectorate was already out of costume and wouldn't have raised suspicions anyways. Where he had acquired civilian clothes from so quickly was a mystery, since it had taken Luke the same amount of time to travel from New York to Brockton as it had for Colin to get home from the Rig.

But that was the benefit of flying at extremely high velocities without any fear of collision.

"It's good to see you, sir," Colin greeted warily, noticing how the man didn't look in peak condition. He seemed worried and distracted. "How's your family?"

"Well, thank you for asking," he replied and the both retired to the living room. When they were seated, Luke immediately cast a glance around. "Can anyone listen in on us?"

"This place is secure against all forms of surveillance," Colin replied, trying not to sound offended. "May I ask what's going on? It's been a while since you came to Brockton Bay, sir, so you can imagine why I'm concerned about this…sudden appearance."

Luke relaxed imperceptibly. "I understand," he replied, "but caution is important in this matter, although it may not matter once it all goes to hell."

"Sir?"

"Have you ever heard of Sentinel?" he asked. "A New York independent hero?"

Colin frowned. "She was on the news this morning," he replied, "as were you. But I've heard her name mentioned a time or two. Nothing specific."

"Well, she's going to become your problem soon, so you need to read up on her," Luke said. "Sentinel is coming here to Brockton Bay, and she may stir up far more trouble than you're prepared to deal with."

"Sir, she's one cape. We've had a recent influx parahumans with the People moving in. Why does Sentinel warrant a visit from you?"

"I have a classified file on her—for your and Hannah's eyes only," he replied. "Sentinel's official rating is Blaster 8 and Mover 6, which is a formidable combination on its own, but the Protectorate knows almost nothing about her beyond that. You won't find anything useful in our database, which is why I'm sending you my personal file on her."

Colin looked at him for a long moment, clearly confused. "Why would you know more than the Protectorate, sir? You are the Protectorate."

"There are other circumstances outside my control which prevent me from saying any more than I already have." Legend fixed him under an unwavering stare. "I trust you to exercise discretion."

"Very well," he answered. "Can you at least tell me why she's coming to Brockton Bay?"

"Sentinel is originally from here and was forced to move away a few years ago," Luke explained. "She believes the situation in Brockton Bay requires her personal attention, and I'm afraid she has more than a few prejudices against our organization."

"I see."

"And she may have a personal grudge against you, seeing as how you are the current leader of the Protectorate in Brockton. She believes you haven't been handling the problem with the villains very well, not that I agree, and she may try to assert control over the current situation when she arrives."

Colin's jaw flexed, and the muscled man looked ready to break something. Who was Sentinel that she had Luke worried? Certainly not a new trigger, but she had to have some hidden ability.

Trump of some kind? A high thinker?

It didn't matter. He'd handled superior threats before; most of them were locked away or dead, but he was still alive and well. Everyone was in the habit of underestimating Tinkers, which often meant he had the element of surprise in battle.

"If she comes in search of trouble, I will have to stop her," Colin responded. "We have enough as trouble as it is, and it will be a serious blow to my authority. I can't let her run rampant across the city."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Luke sighed. "Read the file I send you and decide for yourself what the best way to handle the situation might be. If you use force against Sentinel, she will reply in kind, and the last thing I want is war in Brockton Bay. It may require outside intervention, and that will send the wrong message throughout the country."

"I'll see what I can do."

Luke stood and walked to the door. "Say hello to Hannah for me and keep me apprised of the situation. Just as a heads up, Sentinel might be arriving tomorrow or the day after. I doubt she'll announce her presence for a while; she's a private person."

"I'll keep an eye out," Colin replied, not worried at all. "Thank you for the warning."

Then the file arrived, and Colin started reading.

Ten minutes later, he made a call.

"Hannah."

"Colin, what's up?"

"I need you to drop everything and come to my house."

"Are you under duress?" Alert, focused—her voice held a deadly edge.

"No, I'm secure," he replied. "Just get here. We might have a situation."

* * *

><p>Hannah looked up from the report. "Legend gave this to you?"<p>

"Yes." Colin sat down with a warm coffee in his hand. "If it had come from anyone else, I would have tossed it in the trash, but I'm inclined to believe what's in it."

"It is quite remarkable."

"And the parallels to Eidolon are impossible to ignore," Colin commented.

"I suppose they do share the skill to switch between abilities, but Sentinel's both more versatile and less so." Hannah pressed her lips together firmly. "Unlike Eidolon, there's absolutely no delay when she switches from one power to another, allowing her to adapt rapidly to changing circumstances.

"However, she's limited to the use of two abilities rather than three, and she doesn't really have as many as choices as Eidolon does." Hannah looked up at Colin. "That still means she may be amongst the most powerful capes alive. Any single one of her powers makes her a sufficiently deadly threat, and all five working together…Sentinel shouldn't be underestimated."

Colin didn't comment immediately, slightly irked by Hannah's impressed tone, but he knew he didn't have the luxury to mope about. "There might be a few weaknesses we can exploit," he said. "You're right that all five combinations make her deadly, but any one power on its own isn't capable of protecting her indefinitely."

Hannah nodded immediately. "Right, but anything short of a kill shot won't work," she replied. "When Sentinel dematerializes, all her injuries are erased, and the file says here that she's trained herself to dematerialize automatically when she's injured."

"Unless she's knocked unconscious."

"That too."

"Sentinel is limited to seeing ten seconds into the future when she's using her precognition," Colin continued, "The way I see it, that means if our assault covers a sufficiently large area, we can still catch her. We can use tinker-tech nets to pin her down, which would be designed to withstand the extreme temperatures of her plasma attack."

"And when she dematerializes through it?"

"We run a constant current through the net," he answered. "It works against Shadow Stalker, so it might work against her."

"You're ignoring her last ability," Hannah countered. "Sentinel can discover and exploit weaknesses, and she formulates her plans accordingly. She might just find a way to get out of your net. Not to mention her striker ability. It's supposed to generate massive forces, enough to earn her a high rating."

"Well, do you have any ideas, then? Because you're really not offering anything here."

Hannah shut the file and let out a breath. "All this planning seems a little premature to me," she replied. "I'm all for developing a battle plan in the event we have to bring her in, but it's honestly useless until we've seen her in action. I don't think it's going to be quite that easy to capture her, not with what Legend has written in this report.

"He seems quite serious about her skill," Hannah continued, "and the fact that she has advanced arms training and hand-to-hand combat experience means she's not one those capes who just relies blindly on her powers."

"She's just a teenager!"

"With enough firepower to worry a member of the Triumvirate." Hannah cocked an eyebrow. "I've seen Legend fly right into Behemoth's arms to save fallen capes. Do you think—even for one second—that he would show up personally unless there wasn't something more going on?"

Colin frowned. "What are you saying?"

"How does he know all this?" she asked, nudging the file. "Legend has more information on her than I've ever seen on a cape. Not even Ruin or the S9 have faced this much scrutiny. Where did he get it? How does he know she can see exactly ten second into the future? Why not nine, seven or five?"

"I…"

"Exactly," Hannah responded. "Can you give me one logical explanation which would explain Legend's obvious familiarity with Sentinel? Keep in mind they've had no documented interaction before what happened in New York last night."

Colin swallowed a mouthful of coffee, a look of shocked realization spreading across his face. "You're saying…that he…?"

"Trained her?" Hannah nodded. "Damn right he did, probably hoping she might one day join the Protectorate."

"But it backfired," Colin muttered. "She's coming here to Brockton Bay on a warpath, and he knows it might bring her into conflict with us."

"Right," Hannah agreed, "but he still did his duty. He warned us when he could just as easily have left us in the dark; it must have hurt to betray her. And I have feeling Legend will step in things blow up, and even if he doesn't, Alexandria most certainly will. You remember how she was, always eager to jump in with both legs first, and she won't be able to resist the temptation of pitting herself against someone like Sentinel."

"Shit." Colin scrubbed his stubble roughly and let out a bark of laughter. "What does this girl think she's going to do? Fly in and fix the city with a snap of her fingers?"

Hannah shrugged. "It's stupid and idealistic, but it's exactly what we would have done when we were younger and if we had her kind of power."

"All she's going to do is get innocent people killed!" Colin snapped. "It's so goddamned easy to stand on the outside and criticize others for failure, but do any of them even realize how deep in hell this city is? Ever since Leviathan…nothing we've done has stuck…nothing will ever make it the same again."

"We still have a chance."

"Against more than five times our number?"

"I'm pretty sure we've faced worse odds," Hannah replied with a grin, but it slid off her face slowly and she was left serious and worried. "Please tell me you haven't given up hope, Colin."

"Hope?" he asked, as if the meaning of the word escaped him. "No, never…Hero taught me better than that—he taught us all better."

Hannah reached out and clasped his shoulder in a tight grip, communicating years of steadfast comradery in that simple gesture. "We're still here, and so long as we have breath in our lungs there's not a person on earth who can take this city from us."

Ten minutes later, Hannah departed on patrol and Colin left the room for a moment to throw away his empty cup of coffee.

In that brief moment, as soon as they were gone, a woman dressed in an expensive business suit arrived out of thin air.

She opened the file and flipped through it—page after page—smooth and unhesitant. It didn't take her long to reach end, and there was absolutely no outward sign of her reaction to the contents of the file.

When she was done, the woman stepped back and disappeared.

* * *

><p>2.1<p>

Recoil retreated rapidly across the abandoned street, his breath hissing sharply as he ran.

"Assault!" he shouted into his comms. "I'm pinned down, man! Get here—"

A spinning blur slammed into the roof a nearby car, almost splitting it clean in half.

Recoil stumbled away in alarm, barely managing to stay on his feet, and let out a surprisingly feminine yelp. The compact shape that was now perched atop the car was formed of overlapping carapace—a grungy green natural armor that was formed of intersecting plates, which flowed together smoothly as it unfurled to revealed a spindly woman with long, clawed hands and oddly bent legs that Recoil knew from experience could propel her at tremendous speeds.

Her face was formed of sharp angles, aerodynamic and alien, and her slitted eyes were impossible to look at for more than a second. Recoil wished she was a Case-53, but the woman actually chose to look like this.

Fucking Changer.

"Nowhere to run, whiteboy," the woman laughed, her fanged jaws opening and closing in horrifying imitation of speech. "I've got your scent now…and Lung will be pleased if I bring you back in one piece."

"Assault!" he screamed desperately. "Pincer's got me!"

Her legs flexed and she exploded off the car, hurtling right for Recoil. Her body wrapped in on itself in midair, coiling into an armored ball and she rammed right into his chest.

Instead of flying back under the force of the blow, his body released a powerful detonation upon contact, which ripped across the street and sent Pincer spinning off on a wide tangent, only for her to slam into the sidewalk with enough force to shatter the asphalt.

Recoil staggered and fell on his ass, only just managing to pull himself up before Pincer hit him again. She didn't have as much momentum as before, and the resultant blast was similarly weaker, but it tossed Pincer back once again in much the same was as it had before.

"Assault!" he yelled. "Please, man. Help me out!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Keep your panties on." The reply was sharp and annoyed. "Shit, I've never met a more cowardly hero."

That's because I'm not a hero, he thought desperately. I'm a villain, a fucking villain, and I don't belong here! Oh, god!

Recoil sprint around the corner, but came to a skidding halt as Pincer dropped down in front of him from above.

"Hey, whiteboy," she crooned, a pink tongue darting out to lick her fangs. "Why you running from me? Do like how I look?"

"Assault!"

Pincer jumped back just as shape landed in the place she had been standing a moment ago. Assault didn't hesitate, ramming straight into the retreating cape and tossing her back like she was ragdoll, but the Changer twisted unnaturally in midair and caught onto the side of a building instead of slamming into it.

"Oh, my. There's two of you," she squealed. "Just for me?"

"Oh, fuck," Recoil breathed, moving forward to hug Assault. "Thank you, thank you, thankyou!"

The hero slapped his hands away, sputtering in indignation. "Hey, keep your hands to yourself!"

"Thank you!" Recoil said again. "I thought I was a dead man."

"For fuck's sake," he exclaimed. "You explode if anyone hits you. What the hell are you even afraid of? That insect lady can't say shit to you."

"Can't I?"

She bounded off the building, leaping straight across the street and rolling into a wrecking ball as she came. Assault jumped—and kicked her.

Recoil caught sight of her flying over the building, with Assault in pursuit, before he collapsed against the side of a car and released a pent up breath.

Shit, he thought. This your fault…all your fault, Sentinel. You're the one who got me sent to this fucking hellhole

Claymore was no hero; he wasn't even a decent villain. He just really wanted to be left the fuck alone.

* * *

><p>"Sooooo?" Lisa demanded, rocking back and forth in excitement, clearly unable to stay seated for much longer. "When will it be done?"<p>

Emma looked away from her work and pulled back her protective mask to reveal a brow covered in sweat. "Five minutes, Lisa!" she snapped irritably. "Just need to work out some last-minute kinks and it'll be up for testing. Doesn't your power tell you this stuff?"

"Yes, it does," the Thinker replied, refusing to be put off by her teammate's mood, "but I'd be a zombie if I went around using it all the time. Besides, I can't wait to show off my super-powered Taser. Regent hasn't shut up since you modified his scepter."

Emma was already regretting that decision, but she knew it was for the greater good of the team. She'd never imagined the prospect of being a Tinker before she triggered, but now the mere prospect of not being able to create almost sent her into a panic. What was more, she had found a place amongst the Undersiders—odd as it was—and she'd brought more to the table than perhaps anyone else.

Until recently, she'd concentrated on bolstering her own arsenal and selling her directed-energy weapons to interested groups, usually from outside of Brockton Bay. After Regent's scepter has malfunctioned during battle, she'd decided to make him something a little more reliable and which packed a strong enough punch to actually make a difference.

In the space of a few engagements, Regent had gone to being a standard support cape to someone who could pull off an excellent imitation of a Blaster. The pulsed energy projectile weapon generated electromagnetic and pressure waves on impact, which were capable of causing considerably pain and stunning a target. Regent had taken to it with gusto, and she was afraid he could grow too reliant on the weapon.

Brian was grumbling constantly about his lack of physical endurance and unarmed combat skills.

Lisa, however, for all her abilities of perception, made an easy target during the chaos of battle. Emma had her doubts, but she knew the team wouldn't hold together without Lisa around. And besides, despite their inability to see eye-to-eye on many issues, Emma found she was somewhat attached to the crazy Thinker.

"'Super-powered Taser isn't the technically correct term." Emma sighed and returned to the weapon lying on her table, carefully applying the soldering iron to the delicate circuitry within. "It's an electrolaser, which allows the transfer of a powerful current over large distances using a laser induced plasma channel. It's thousands of times more conductive than air."

"Isn't that what I just said?" Lisa asked teasingly. "Oh, relax. I know you're worried about making me a weapon, but I honestly won't misuse it."

Emma's glare wasn't dimmed at all by the obvious exhaustion in her eyes. "I'm afraid you'll go on a shocking spree. Zap, zap, zap—all the while taunting everyone with their secrets," she replied. "Or worse, if anyone interrupts you during a monologue, you'll just go ahead and shut them up."

"I hadn't thought of that…" Lisa's smirk was positively frightening. "What a fascinating idea, shorty."

"I've created a monster," Emma muttered to herself. "And I'm NOT short!"

"Whatever you say," Lisa teased, "but just saying…Brian likes them on the small side."

Emma ducked her head. "Shut up."

Lisa resumed her excited bouncing, clearly opting not to taunt Emma with obvious crush. "I'm going to call it LIPS," she continued. "Or maybe just LIP. I don't know if it should be all capital letters, but that's how I see it in my head: L.I.P.S."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Get it?" Lisa rolled her eyes at Emma's lack of vision. "Laser Induced Plasma Shocker. In other words, LIPS. It suits me."

Luckily, Brian chose that moment to stick his head through the lab door. "Are you two still at it in here?"

"Almost done!" Emma replied desperately, hoping he would distract Lisa for a moment. "Just have to put the cover on."

Working quickly, if only to get away from Lisa's increasingly freaky smile, Emma quickly cast a glance over the interior to make sure everything was in place before screwing on the glossy, red exterior.

"Here!" she announced uselessly, because Lisa snatched the weapon right out of her hand and pointed it across the room. "No! Not indoors—"

Emma ducked as the room burst with light, and she managed to catch sight of a spear of lightning as it leapt from the tip of the coil and slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Holy shit!" Lisa whispered in awe. "I lovvveee it!"

"You crazy woman!"

Emma took her down in a flying tackle and had to sit firmly on her chest while Brian tried to wrestle the gun from her grip.

"I'm living with a lunatic!"

"Oh, that's so sweet of you to say." Lisa cackled and held onto the weapon with both her hand. "This is going to be sooo great! Wait until I show Regent!"

* * *

><p>The Boat Graveyard was a sprawling stretch of public property that hadn't seen any cleanup efforts in well over a decade. In the beginning, or so Cardinal had been told by the locals of Brockton Bay, the Graveyard been a place where old ships were kept while the local authorities arranged for them to be transported and broken down for scrap. Following a massive cut in funding to the majority of ongoing projects and the gradual rise of gang activity throughout most of Brockton Bay, everyone had forgotten about the original plans set in place and moved on to more viable ventures.<p>

Like fixing the Boardwalk for tourists and cleaning the Bay of garbage, which was all made irrelevant by Leviathan's attack in mid-2007. Once again, plans had been set aside and forgotten while the city scrambled to recover from the disaster.

Since then, the Boat Graveyard had gone from being a place where defunct vessels were dumped, to a scrapheap where just about anything that wasn't needed eventually found its way. Large mountains of junk as tall as a three story buildings towered over rusting ships that had been washed ashore during the Endbringer attack, and a legion of rats and feral dogs hid inside the labyrinth far from prying eyes.

Disgusting creatures, she thought, but they always make noise when the enemy is closing in.

It was secluded, abandoned and large enough to lose yourself in for hours if you weren't careful. And that was perfect, really, since Cardinal didn't want to be found by anyone. The gangs in Brockton Bay hadn't bothered with the Graveyard—idiots the lot of them—making it easier for her team to absorb it into their growing territory.

It was a natural maze, optimum for a hidden base.

Three years ago when the People had first arrived in Brockton, there wasn't anything worth salvaging, but this broken city was turning out to be an excellent place to set roots. There was almost no authority whatsoever out on the streets, and the Protectorate was reluctant to engage the People in any confrontation out of fear of losing their support.

Sure, a great deal of city life was untouched by violence. The schools stayed open, most the shops kept running (subject to paying protection fees), and life went on, but the gangs could raise hell if they wanted to. Might meant right in this city, and with seven capes under her command, Cardinal was amongst the most powerful players in the struggle for absolute dominance.

She lived for the fight, for the taste of battle and blood, and there was no other place like Brockton for people who wanted to let loose and just go at it. Especially in the Graveyard, where there was no such thing as collateral damage.

Her base was holed away deep in the belly of the beast, far beyond sight and surrounded by permanent forcefields that Citadel had created by virtue of his Tinker tech. There wasn't a gang in the city who could match her gang for extended periods, and not a single one of them had a chance in hell of reaching her base, even if they could find it.

Brockton Bay was approaching a critical mass, and she would make the best of it when the city finally imploded.

* * *

><p>Emily Piggott stared at the interactive map of Brockton Bay that was splayed across the large, wall-mounted LCD opposite her desk. It was incredibly detailed, accurate down to a few meters and specifically designed to reflect the concentration of gang activity across the whole city.<p>

The territories of each individual gang were clearly labeled, and a broad view of the city showed just how well defined the borders actually were. It would have been impossible to guess, considering the extent of chaos out on the streets. Past cape fights were labeled under tiny red icons, whereas battles involving PRT or Protectorate personnel fell under blue icons. Then there were alternative color schemes for engagements won and those that were lost, and small summaries appeared whenever she floated the cursor over any of the many icons.

This wasn't the first map of its kind, but it was definitely far more impressive than anything her people had come up with. Dragon's work was always exemplary, and she never complained, which was why she was one of the few capes Emily respected, as opposed to just plain hating their guts.

From a quick perusal, it was obvious that Lung and his capes had a greater frequency of instigating conflict with other gangs than any other group in the city. They numbered six in total—Lung, Oni Lee, Bakuda, Pincer, Kagami and Enera.

While Lung was undoubtedly the most formidable by reputation, the others had made combat against the ABB a difficult task fraught with traps and unseen dangers. Oni Lee was everywhere, carrying all manner of deadly weapons, and he never stayed still long enough for anyone to target him. His methods were brutal and confusing, and trying to guess his next move was almost pointless.

Bakuda's bombs were another matter entirely, and the potential for disaster hung above everyone like the Sword of Damocles, ready to cleave the city in two. So far, the bomb-maker had moderated the destructive capability of her creations, most likely because Lung saw the wisdom of keeping her on a short leash. But Emily knew it was only a matter of time before Bakuda's interests spread to more dangerous weapons and crossed that murky line between a nuisance and mass-murderer, which would inevitably earn the villain a kill order in the event of large casualties.

It would most likely fall to either Armsmaster or Miss Militia, and they would see the deed done without hesitation. Both had experience carrying out kill-orders, usually against capes that were superior on paper but lacking in true combat prowess.

Besides Bakuda, there was Pincer to contend with. She was tough, fast and extremely mobile, flitting across the battlefield and clashing with anyone who came in her way. Her carapace armor could withstand incredible forces and her six-inch claws were capable of ripping chunks out of concrete walls. It was made so much worse by the fact that she actually knew how to use her power, as opposed to those who just fumbled about aimlessly.

Much like Recoil, that little coward.

Kagami, on the other hand, was a support cape who was owed most of the credit for ABB's combat efficiency in recent times. He was young and had possibly triggered in the Endbringer aftermath. His ability allowed him to create ethereal projections of himself, which had no combat ability but acted as his eyes and ears. He could patrol the entire length and breadth of ABB territory without risk and send instant reports back to Lung, who often mobilized Oni Lee to delay any intruders while the rest of them prepared for battle.

It was a tactic which had ensured ABB's survival.

And finally came Enera, whose infuriating power had caused headaches for heroes and villains alike. She could turn into a cloud of hallucinogenic gas and fill the volume of an entire street. Up until now, it had been impossible to actually injure her once she dispersed into gaseous form, and none of the usual tricks seemed to work on her.

Armsmaster's attempt to use electricity had failed spectacularly.

As if that wasn't enough, Enera could teleport inside her cloud, appearing briefly to slash and strike out at her enemies before disappearing again. The area-denial potential of her ability was difficult to surmount, especially since the hallucinogenic effects didn't seem to extend to her own allies. She could make you see things that weren't there, skew both sight and hearing, and prolonged exposure led to reduction in both reaction time and speed.

No one had stuck around long enough to see what happened eventually, but there were a few rumors that implied she could make her victims extremely vulnerable to even the most harmless forms of interrogation and that people became more susceptible to suggestion over time. Whether or not there was any truth to it had yet to be determined, but it was worrying nonetheless.

Emily had tentatively classified her as a mid-to-high level Master, with further investigation required in order to ascertain the exact extent of her powers.

It was no wonder the ABB was so eager lately to engage their enemies, and the E88 was unhesitant in obliging them.

The two city blocks that separated their respective territories had been abandoned entirely by the residents of the area. They knew better than to stick around, especially after the collapse of an entire apartment building when Lung knocked out the support columns and brought it crashing down on both Hookwolf and himself.

Emily had ordered her capes to standby and spectate whenever they went at it, since it would only escalate matters if the Protectorate decided to jump into the fray. So long as civilians were being kept out of the gang war, she really didn't care what they did to each other.

It was too bad no one had died yet. There was a pool going on who would be the first casualty, and Bakuda seemed to be the most popular choice. She was far too eager to jump into the fray, despite the fact that she was better suited to sticking behind her more durable allies.

Whatever the case, Emily was looking forward to facilitating her demise, however the hell it came about. She had been tempted more than once to sending Miss Militia after the bomb-maker. All it would take was a sniper shot, easily done, and a quick retreat back, but the prospect of facing Lung's rampage afterward stayed her hand.

Not that Miss Militia would ever carry out a kill order without first seeing the proper authorization, which was above Emily's pay grade. Only Costa-Brown, with the approval of a judge, could approve a kill order, and the requirements were quite high.

Surprisingly few capes ever made it on the list.

Not all was without hope, however, where the ABB was concerned. Danny Hebert's efforts over the past year-and-a-half in restoring the Boardwalk and surrounding areas were finally beginning to pay off. It was a mystery how he had managed to convince Lung into letting him start the project to begin with, but small crowds were flowing back to the edge of the Bay, and there was talk of restoring the ferry service.

Emily had received reports from her people that the ABB goons seemed to keep their distance from the area surrounding the Boardwalk on express orders from their leader. Any crime along that stretch of shoreline would be met with harsh consequences.

What it meant in the long run remained to be seen, but the PRT had opened a file on Hebert and would be looking into him if anything changed. After all, with the mayoral election approaching soon, there was talk of Danny Hebert sitting in office. He was the epitome of the tragic, middle-class man who dared to rise above his station in the face of adversity. Down on the streets, he was a visible presence, working actively to improve the city, and thousands knew him by name if not on sight.

Whatever it was Danny Hebert had done to convince Lung, it had served to elevate everyone's spirits, and Hebert was quickly becoming a household name in Brockton Bay. An unpowered hero, according to some.

Emily still needed a trump card against the gangs, something that would rewrite the playing field in favor of the PRT and Protectorate. Armsmaster's requests for additional capes hadn't been approved by Alexandria, especially since very few capes were willing to transfer to Brockton Bay, so any plan she came up with would have to accommodate the limitations placed on her power.

And it didn't help that the People had a substantial presence in the city. Eight capes in total, with Cardinal as their leader. She was a mystery, a calm operator who hadn't made too much noise but more than sufficiently established her presence in the city. With so many capes at her beck and call, Cardinal represented a critical element in Brockton's future, and Emily's thoughts were never far from the People.

The only silver lining was that they stayed out of the Protectorate's way whenever they could. There were a few brushes now and again, but nothing serious enough to warrant too much attention. The official stance was that the People were a villain group, but unofficially…unofficially every director knew better than to piss them off.

Apparently, the Endbringers were far more important than petty disputes over the control of a city.

Emily continued her perusal, scrolling her map around and analyzing every little detail. She kept at it well into the night and when exhaustion settled over her, she collapsed in a nearby sofa and fell asleep.

Someday, she told herself. Someday it'll be over.

* * *

><p>2.2<p>

Danny Hebert sat quietly in the lobby of the towering apartment building, perfectly still in his seat as a pair of armed guards watched his every little move. Automatic rifles with matte-black finish dangled comfortably from their shoulders, in easy reach if they were required, and each had a handgun holstered at his hip.

For the headquarters of the ABB, it was surprisingly professional. Potted plants, carpeting, comfortable sofas and a working elevator, not to mention air conditioning. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, and the guards didn't look like ragged gang members ready to 'bust a cap' in anyone's ass. They seemed like determined soldiers, steely eyed and unwavering.

It'd been a considerably shock the first time he had come here, but Danny had learned to accept Lung's tendency to indulge himself.

It might not fit the standard image of a villain, but it could be much, much worse.

Danny reached down quickly and lifted his worn briefcase off the ground as a loud ping announced the elevator's arrival. The door slid open to reveal a woman dressed in black military fatigues. Her features were not classically pleasing, but she had a striking air of confidence to her that would make it incredibly difficult for any man to approach her.

That's if they could ignore the katana strapped across her back, with its crimson hilt showing menacingly above her right shoulder. Danny had little doubt she could use the weapon, but he often wondered whether or not she was a parahuman.

He didn't know enough about the ABB or Lung to guess one way or another, but he suspected there was something special about her by the way both the guards straightened immediately in respect when she entered the lobby. The only thing that kept him from labeling her as a cape was the fact that she never wore a mask.

Until three months ago, he had never laid eyes on her, but she had shown up out of nowhere in his monthly reports to Lung, standing quietly by the door and watching the proceeding without any reaction.

"Danny Hebert," she spoke, voice cool. "Follow me."

"Ah…of course," he replied reluctantly, not entirely sure how to respond to her brusque manner, and walked forward to offer a hand.

She considered with it a frown, and then took his hand in a crushing grip that lasted all of one second. "Come with me," she replied. "It's best not to keep Lung waiting."

They stepped into the elevator and it lurched upwards a moment later as they climbed toward the top the apartment building. Calm music echoed in the background, punctuating the sharp silence, and Danny wondered whether it was safe to make small talk…if only to interrupt the tension.

"So," he said finally. "How was your Christmas?"

She turned slowly and her head tilted to the side in a thoughtful expression that Danny didn't like one bit.

It reminded him of how a homeless man had once contemplated a cheeseburger while digging around in the trash outside Danny's house. There were probably some people who enjoyed being looked at as if they were food, especially by a woman like her, but Danny certainly wasn't one of them.

"Uhmm?" He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to look anywhere but into those coal-black eyes. "Visited any family, or did you celebrate with friends? Lung throw a party or something?"

If she licked her lips, he was going to take a swing at her with the briefcase. There was no way he was going down without a fight. But the woman turned away just as calmly and stared right ahead as if nothing had ever happened.

Danny let out a quiet sigh of relief and refrained from sagging against the elevator wall. Weakness wasn't appreciated by these people.

"Christmas sucked," she replied suddenly, and he jerked in alarm at the candid words. "I had to kill a man; ruined my whole evening. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to get blood out from under your nails? A fuckload, that's how much."

The doors slid open and Danny wrestled desperately against the urge to flee her presence, even if the path would lead him straight to Lung. At least with him, a person knew where he stood. There were no mind games, no tricks whatsoever.

Lung always spoke his mind.

By some miracle of courage, he managed to keep in control as she led him into a broad corridor where a pair of guards promptly relieved Danny of his briefcase and went through it quickly. They checked each and every corner for a hidden weapon, going as far as to riffle carefully through the papers within. I doubt they were looking for a knife or gun. Tinker-tech weapons came in all sizes, and some of them could be devastating even to a powerful cape like Lung.

"All clear," one of them said, handing the briefcase back.

My escort nodded and continued down the corridor, and I followed her quickly through an opening where there had once stood a door. It had been widened to accommodate a greater number of people at once, and it was obvious why when the interior of the large chamber came into view.

A large circle of plush seats had been arranged around a throne-like structure, upon which Lung reclined with the languid grace of a cat, so unlike a man of his solid constitution. It was as if the troubles of Brockton Bay were beyond his concern, or perhaps the troubles were what had brought him into his true element.

Lung was a warlord, and it was in war that he prospered.

If his crisp tank top and clean jeans were any indication, the man was clearly enjoying the city's current situation. Danny envied the man's ability to rise to the top when the whole world seemed to be falling, but he couldn't say that he precisely dislike Lung.

Whatever he might be, the leader of the ABB was not irrational or unduly cruel. If it weren't for his approval, the project to rebuild the Boardwalk would never have achieved fruition. Which begged the question: why? To a man like Danny, the answer was relatively straightforward, but who knew whether Lung thought remotely in the same way ordinary people did.

Leaning against the side of the throne, dressed in spilling blue silk, was Enera. Her face was concealed behind a porcelain mask, on which the face of a screaming demon-like creature had carefully been painted, its jaws wide open and eyes narrowed down to slits. In her hand, held loosely between two fingers, was a curved knife with a jewel set in its hilt. It seemed decorative, unlike the katana my escort carried, but it was unlikely for a villain to keep a weapon that she wouldn't put to use.

Enera was frightening, to say the least…but Danny for one was glad it was her and not Pincer who was here today. The ABB changer was a grotesque creature out of nightmare, and she liked to stay in her alternate form all the time. Danny often wondered about the logistics of her sleep, and whether or not there was a bed available that could accommodate her shape. Claws, carapace, a mouthful of fangs—all of them part of a seven-foot-tall monster who liked to rip through anything and everything that came in her way.

Danny contained a shuddered and approached Lung, whose sharp eyes never looked away from him.

"Danny Hebert," the man spoke, his voice rolling through the room like a physical force. "Here again, and right on time as always."

"I try my best to be prompt, sir," he replied, dipping his head slightly in greeting. "I hope all is well with you and your…associates?"

Enera laughed softly. "Subordinates."

"Subordinates," he corrected quickly, daring a quick glance in her direction and then away again.

"All is well, Danny Hebert." Lung gestured widely, his expression unchanging. "Take a seat, any seat."

Danny approached from the door and lowered himself carefully into one of the sofas, placing his briefcase down on the ground beside him. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Mr. Lung" Danny said, trying not to wipe his sweaty palms over his knees. "With the Boardwalk project finally coming to an end, I wasn't sure you would want to see me again."

"Your efforts in the past have earned you considerable leeway. I was curious why you asked to see me before our scheduled monthly meeting." Lung curled a large fist. "Have any of my people been bothering visitors to the Boardwalk?"

"No, sir," Danny replied. "I actually don't have a problem so much as a proposition that could benefit both you and the citizens of Brockton."

Lung smiled. "I remember the last time you said those words. Almost a year-and-a-half now, and my trust seems to have paid off." He nodded thoughtfully. "I will hear what you have to say."

Trust, Danny wondered? Lung hasn't depended on trust to keep me in line so much as the threat of murdering me in my own home. It's all semantics to him, I suppose.

"The Boardwalk has seen thousands come and go in the past week alone." Danny began his semi-rehearsed presentation in a level and detached tone, keeping his earnestness and pride at bay. "At first, two months ago, it was just a few men and women braving the edge of safety zones, but we now have teenagers from Winslow, Immaculata and Arcadia High coming down at all times of the day to enjoy the Boardwalk. Shopkeepers and businessmen have taken notice, and we've already specified areas where dozens of stalls can be set up.

"As I mentioned last month, someone from out of town has shown interest in building a Ferris wheel and other constructions on the Boardwalk, as well as a Jet Ski and speedboat service." Danny cleared his throat. "These will all result in significant profits accruing to you, sir, since I have made it clear to all interested parties that business on the Boardwalk is not without cost, and that you have final authority over who stays and who doesn't."

Lung nodded, looking pleased.

"In interests of expanding the use of the Boardwalk, I hoped you would approve of restoring the ferry service that was there before Leviathan." Danny wanted to reach for his briefcase and hand Lung his projections, but the man wouldn't appreciate facts and figures printed out in narrow columns. Straightforward explanations meant more to him. "There are many docking stations that lie outside your territory, in the Merchant area as well as those controlled by the E88 and the People. If we open the ferry service, commuters will be able to avoid the roads in-between these territories—"

"Why should I care what happens beyond my streets?" He interrupted, though there was no rudeness to it. A thing is rude only if the person recognizes the breach of etiquette. According to Lung, what he said and did was inherently correct, not matter how wrong it actually was. "The manner in which the E88, Merchants and People govern their territories is their business and no concern of mine."

"Respectfully, Mr. Lung," Danny countered, "if the ferry service provides reliable transport, it will cut down on both the time and risk of commuting. Thousands have to move around the city, going to their offices, schools or just conducting day-to-day business. An increasing number of people will opt to use the ferries, and you will take a percentage of the income that comes from it, which is substantial. The city was raking in millions every week before Leviathan, and the Dockworkers Association never saw a penny of it."

Danny opened his briefcase and held out a neat folder of papers. "It's all in there."

The sword-wielding woman stepped forward to take them from me and walked over to the throne. Enera slipped around Lung and accepted the folder, promptly flipping it open to read the contents. Her eyes moved quickly behind the demon mask, and Danny could tell her lips were pressed together in concentration despite the shadow cast across her face.

"You would be able to generate these profits in two months' time?" she inquired, her voice almost mellow compared to Lung's.

"We have four working ferries," he replied. "The initial profits, with your approval, will go towards the repair and maintenance of two other vessels we have available but which require some work before we can get them out there."

"Is it really that simple?"

"Normally, I would have to worry about the correct permits and having the city council bar me because a competitor paid them off," he answered, "but those worries are irrelevant since the Mayor's Office made it clear a long time ago that they had more important matters than fixing the shoreline operations. They could demand the shutdown of the service subject to acquiring the correct permits, but it comes down to whether or not they can enforce their ban."

"Which is why you have brought this before me?" Lung asked. "You are concerned about the PRT and Protectorate taking action?"

Danny frowned. "Actually no, sir," he replied. "I'm not exactly aware of what relationship the Mayor's Office has to the heroes, but I know for a fact that he doesn't have the authority to order them around. They stand outside the chain of command that standard law enforcement agencies have to observe. As such, I doubt the Protectorate will risk open battles with the ABB over the reopening of the ferry service. In fact, in may even earn them significant ire from the public."

"And yet you are concerned," Lung stated, displaying the sharp acumen of a natural leader, "or you would not have made such efforts to convince me. It has significant merit, your project, but there is obvious question of how you will ensure the cooperation of the other parties involved, namely Kaiser, Crimson and Skidmark's crews."

"Uhmm…I was hoping you would help with that."

Enera laughed and retreated back to her place beside the throne.

"Explain." Lung ordered, and the single word came out in a harsh rasp that reminded Danny of not only who, but of what, he was. A dragon. "And be careful not to offend me. I will not entertain any proposal that somehow debases me before those ignorant animals."

"Of course, Mr. Lung," Danny replied quickly, managing to paste an appeasing smile over his face as he gathered his arguments together. "It's my understanding, sir, that the gangs in Brockton Bay have an agreement to the effect that battles will be fought along territory lines in order to minimize collateral damage. Very rarely are there forays deep into an enemy territory, unless an attempt is being made to expand once power base."

"This is your understanding?" Lung asked. "And how have you arrived at this conclusion?"

Danny fidgeted. "Observation, I suppose, and a few rumors here and there," he replied. "Almost every battle I have heard about has occurred on the borders of your respective territories. Only the other day, I noticed how the destruction ends suddenly, as if there's an invisible line in the sand that no one is willing to cross except upon rare occasion. I don't mean to overstep, Mr. Lung, but this is clearly the product of a mutual agreement, whether unspoken or explicit."

"Such things…they should not be spoken of publicly." Lung looked him right in the eye, and Danny knew his life had just been threatened, no matter how subtly. "If a pact existed between the gangs to limit violence within a specified area, it would imply that we are purposefully fostering an image of chaos and anarchy…merely to benefit from the lack of certainty in Brockton Bay. Such a conclusion would be most inadvisable."

"I u-understand."

"Yes; it seems you do." Lung waved. "Where are you going with this? Are you suggesting I reach some form of arrangement with the others?"

"All you would have to do, Mr. Lung, is suggest the merits of allowing free passage to the ferry," he replied, reaching for the opening. "While you take a percentage of the ferry's income on your part of the shoreline, they can do the same on theirs. Our books will account for both passengers and the location they get on and off the ferry. Accordingly, at the end of every month, we will open our accounts to the interested parties and calculate the profit owed to each. It will be a transparent process, with the Dockworkers Association as an impartial judge of the accounts."

"What do you seek out of this? A small cut?"

Danny's expression shuttered. "I have never asked for anything, Mr. Lung, but for my people to be treated fairly and to go about their business unmolested." He drew himself up. "I intend, after you have taken your profits from the Boardwalk and ferry service, to pay the dockworkers a stable salary so that there is a system in place to maintain what we have built and keep the Boardwalk operational. So far, many of the workers have helped on a voluntary basis, but they require some reward for their efforts."

"And am I to assume you have no interest in the Mayor's seat?"

Enera laughed again at Danny's expression, which was caught between surprise and worry, and her sharp nails clicked over the surface of the throne.

"That's not why I'm doing this, Mr. Lung," he answered carefully. "It would be a lie to say that I don't want to stand for the coming election, but I'm not using the ferry as a springboard into the Mayor's seat. I can get that on my own."

Lung chuckled. "You are confident of your own popularity."

"I've helped," Danny replied honestly, "while the Mayor improved Captain's Hill and stayed behind his barricades. And I'll keep helping while I'm in office."

"Good."

"Good?" Danny asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oddly enough, Lung's approval wasn't exactly the best endorsement of his future career in politics.

"It is not in my interests to lead," Lung replied, "if the object of my control is no more than a city of rubble and desolation. I want a territory where the shops are open, where people visit and feel safe, and where they know this safety is a product of my benevolence. I would rather have no authority at all than rule over a Brockton Bay that has no future.

"That, Danny Hebert, is why I tolerate your existence." Lung leaned forward, his corded muscles rippling with the motion. "If you find yourself in the Mayor's office, make sure not to forget those who helped Brockton Bay during its time of need."

Danny Hebert nodded, and looked the man in the eye. "I won't," he replied, "and I won't forget those who turned their backs."

Lung smiled, and the expression was filled with the promise of blood.

* * *

><p>"Door me."<p>

A sliver of light extended horizontally, and then extended upwards when it reached the required width. Alexandria stepped through the portal into a large, underground space and walked steadily toward the table on the other end of the room where a woman in a business suit sat, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"I received your message," she said in lieu of greeting. "You wanted to see me?"

The woman indicated the only empty chair. "Sit," she said, "or don't. This won't take very long."

Alexandria pulled the chair out and relaxed in it. "You're message mentioned Brockton Bay. What is this about?"

"You are, of course, apprised of the situation there." A statement, not a question. "I believe Armsmaster recently relayed a request up the chain of command for additional capes to help rein in the criminal elements in the city."

"Yes," Alexandria responded, watching the woman intently. "It was denied. We don't have many people to spare, and there are other matters that take priority."

The woman nodded. "It was the right decision then, but I have a cape here by the name of Obsidian who needs to be in Brockton Bay," she said. "You will send him there with a confidential recommendation to Emily Piggott and Armsmaster to allow Obsidian free rein in his activities. He will not be interfered with in any way, and there can be no public or private connection between him and the authorities. For all purposes, he will operate independently."

"It won't be easy to sell, especially to Director Piggott."

"Make it an order from Costa-Brown," the woman replied. "Once a soldier, always a soldier."

Alexandria nodded.

"At no point will the Brockton heroes support or show any favor to Obsidian, and they may even oppose him on rare occasions if it helps maintain his cover. I would rather not have it known where his loyalties lie," she continued. "His affiliations are to remain confidential, and for that reason I need you to make a personal visit to Brockton. I want there to be no digital footprint whatsoever in our servers."

"I understand. Why are you doing this?"

"Circumstances have changed," the woman answered. "I need Obsidian to put pressure on someone. Delay them, if you will. Make the task harder."

"Will Obsidian accompany me back?"

Contessa shook her head. "He will receive his instructions and arrive at Brockton in his own time. For now, you do your part."

Alexandria stood wordlessly and left.

* * *

><p>2.3<p>

"Miss Militia," Armsmaster greeted tersely as he spotted the gun-wielding hero walking past him in the corridor. "Can I have a moment of your time?"

"I'm on my way to debrief Aegis and the others on their patrols today," she replied. "Can it wait until after?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied.

Her eyebrows furrowed. She knew very well he wouldn't interrupt her duties unless it was essential. "Conference room?"

Armsmaster nodded curtly and the pair moved down the corridor into an empty room, shutting out the rest of the world. He immediately opened a panel on his arm and depressed a button inside.

It took a moment, but he finally looked back to Miss Militia. "We can speak freely," he said. "Director Piggott and I just finished meeting with Alexandria, and the Director received a call from Costa-Brown not minutes after we were done."

"What about?" Miss Militia asked, her voice reflecting worry.

"Apparently," he answered. "A cape by the name of Obsidian will be arriving in town soon in order to lend us a hand. He isn't officially part of the Protectorate, or at least that's what Alexandria said, and there is no record of him at all in our databases. For all purposes, he never existed before the meeting."

Miss Militia took a moment to process the information. "Are you saying he's…off the books for some reason?"

"What else could it possibly mean?" he demanded. "Either this person normally goes by a different cape name, or he doesn't exist on paper at all, because Alexandria clearly stated we wouldn't be able to find anything on him."

"Someone off book, then," Miss Militia stated flatly. "Most likely a fixer who deals with issues the Protectorate wants nothing to do with. We've had one or two of those over the years."

"That seems to be the only logical conclusion," Armsmaster agreed, "especially since I have been given clear instructions not to associate with Obsidian in any way that would expose his secret relationship to the Protectorate. In fact, Alexandria outright told me not to lend him aid in any circumstances, but also not to actively oppose him.

"In other words, we treat him like an unknown quantity: maintain our distance and gather intelligence," Armsmaster shook his head. "She didn't even bother explaining his powers."

"But what's his purpose in Brockton?" she asked. "Do you think this has something to do with Sentinel? You have to admit, the timing is suspect."

"According to Alexandria, several Thinkers have picked up on an 'unidentified threat' and Obsidian is being sent to handle it," Armsmaster answered, his voice laced with skepticism. "It begs the question: does Alexandria know about Sentinel and should we tell her what happened with Legend?"

Miss Militia tensed. "That's getting between a rock and really hard place, Colin," she warned. "We have orders from Legend not to disclose details about Sentinel or his prior knowledge of her. If Sentinel is coming here to fight the gangs, everyone will know all about her soon enough anyways. Best we keep out of it."

"On the other hand, Alexandria seems to be countering the same threat. Shouldn't she have all the information available to her?" he replied. "Two members of the Triumvirate have made personal visits to Brockton in the past day—they have to be related. Refusing to disclose details of Sentinel's powers and background is deceiving Alexandria by omission."

"The way I see it, Legend ranks higher in the Protectorate hierarchy than Alexandria, and who's to say he hasn't already told her? We may be stepping into a private dispute of some kind by interfering."

"There's not a chance Alexandria knows."

"Why do you say that?"

Armsmaster struggled with his answer before shrugging indecisively. "She seemed genuinely unaware of the specifics," he replied. "I could tell she didn't know what exactly Obsidian was supposed to prevent, only that he was needed in Brockton Bay."

"Yet she instructed you not to draw attention to the Protectorate's relationship with this cape." Miss Militia pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something in another language. "If her actions were legitimate, she wouldn't have to use an unknown cape."

Maybe, unless she's planning to have Sentinel killed. Wouldn't the first time she put down a threat to the Protectorate with extreme prejudice.

"Costa-Brown green lighted the whole thing," Armsmaster replied, pushing the thought away. "How much more legitimate does it get when the PRT agrees?"

"I suppose that's true," Miss Militia admitted grudgingly. "It still leaves the question of why Alexandria doesn't send a proper team over. We have dozens of protocols in place to deal with threats to the organization. Her actions really make no sense."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm wondering whether we should kick this up to Legend. Let him deal with it."

Armsmaster was already shaking his head. "Absolutely not," he replied. "Alexandria was adamant that we not bring to attention the Protectorate's role in any of this."

"I don't like it one bit."

"Neither does Piggott," he replied wearily. "She seemed more than a little furious with Costa-Brown for going along it. I might have heard something breaking when I left her office."

"At least someone has their priorities straight," Miss Militia muttered. "This cloak and dagger nonsense is giving me a headache. Right now, I just want Sentinel to get here so we can figure out our next move. And I don't care what Alexandria might have said, Obsidian needs close watching. This is still our city, and some faceless cape isn't going to spoil the balance we've spent so long establishing."

Armsmaster nodded firmly. "We can open a file on him. It's standard protocol with unknown capes, and it might seem suspicious if we don't investigate him initially."

"If that's all…?"

"For now," he replied. "We still need to develop a plan for Sentinel."

"Not until she gets here and we know what her plans are. We don't have to make an enemy of her unless absolutely necessary, Armsmaster," she warned. "Now I really have to get going. The Wards are probably waiting on me."

"Of course," he replied, stepping towards the door. "Keep me briefed."

* * *

><p>Miss Militia hammered the heavy bag with a combination of powerful blows – each perfectly timed for maximum effect. She slammed fists, elbows and knees into the target of her frustration and anger, pushing faster and harder with each passing moment. The empty gym filled with the sound of flesh slapping into tough leather, and the sharp satisfaction of each solid impact drove away the pressures of the day and restored a sense of balance and control in her.<p>

This is what she lived for; that moment when thought turned to action, worry faded into the shadows, and when pure instinct replaced the need for deliberation.

An endless barrage of killing blows.

"Uhmm…Miss Militia?"

Her senses were honed to a razor's edge, which was how Hannah already knew someone was standing behind her, but the urge to turn, duck and fire was almost too difficult to resist.

She ceased her attack and let out a pent-up breath before dropping her arms limply and turning to face the new arrival. "Aegis. I thought you would have left by now."

The young hero had removed his mask, and a quick flicker of uncertainty showed in his eyes. "Gallant mentioned something after the meeting was over, and I couldn't leave without asking you about it first."

Miss Militia toweled her face and gulped down a mouthful of water, using the brief moment to collect her thoughts. "I'm guessing he picked up on what I was feeling earlier and told you."

If Aegis was surprised by her conclusion, he didn't show it. He must have known she would deduce his reason for staying behind – it didn't take a genius to figure out what Gallant may have said. Despite every attempt to calm herself, Hannah had failed to conceal her emotional state from the empathic cape. It was one thing to maintain absolute focus despite emotional distractions, and another entirely to feel nothing at all, which was impossible.

* * *

><p>An abrupt ending. OH NO! That's all I'v written, guys. Sorry. I won't be writing more.<p> 


End file.
